


Man in the Wilderness

by Ltleflrt



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Small Town, Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Cop Castiel, Do not repost, Drifter Castiel, Ex Soldier Dean Winchester, Fanfiction of Fanfiction, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, M/M, Mechanic Dean Winchester, Minor Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester, Minor Injuries, Past Drug Use, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Switch Castiel, Switch Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:15:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 142,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25774972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ltleflrt/pseuds/Ltleflrt
Summary: As a veteran, Dean has survived more than most people could handle without going completely cuckoo.  And he hasn't exactly escaped being a little messed up himself.  So he's returned home to the tiny town he grew up in, retreating from a world that has become too much.  But when you know everyone in town, the dating pool is shallow and it can be a little bit lonely, even when surrounded by friends and family who love him.  And then a drifter on a motorcycle rolls into town, and Dean thinks just maybe this might be the man he's been waiting for.While wandering the country in an attempt to escape his problems, Castiel's motorcycle breaks down in a small desert town.  He's helplessly drawn to Dean, the town's handsome mechanic, and the feeling appears to be mutual.  After months of aimless traveling, he thinks he may have finally found his way out of the wilderness.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 1868
Kudos: 1046
Collections: The Destiel Fan Survey Favs Collection





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Feels Like Home](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1014392) by [Ltleflrt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ltleflrt/pseuds/Ltleflrt). 



> Hello again! I thought I was done with Destiel fics after Hunter's Caress, but apparently I was wrong. Yay! 
> 
> BUT, this is a weird one. It's a Destiel AU of my most popular Mass Effect fic Feels Like Home. So it's more of an exercise in re-writing a classic, rather than writing something new. Easy on the muse, and a fun project to bring one of my favorite stories to the people in my audience who aren't interested in Mass Effect. That being said, if I get bored and give up, you can always go read the original fic and see what happens ;D
> 
> Just like the original, this fic is set somewhere completely made up. But think of it as somewhere Central to Southern Utah-ish. 
> 
> The title comes from Man in the Wilderness by Styx.

Small towns are quiet. No traffic, very few voices unless one visits the Roadhouse around mealtimes or at sundown when it becomes the local watering hole. Sometimes the loudest thing a person hears all day is the buzz of electricity, or the hiss of wind kicking sand up against walls.

That’s what Dean loves about Purgatory. At least now he does. When he was a kid, he’d hated the small town he grew up in. It was too small, barely a wide spot in the road, and he wanted to be part of the bigger world. But after years in the army, and visiting many strange and exotic locations during his service, he came home. The world is too big and too loud sometimes, and Purgatory’s small town silence is exactly what he needs right now.

So the sudden clang of tools is jarring enough to bring his head up to see what the hell is going on. Unfortunately, he’s reminded rather painfully that he’s under the hood of a car when the back of his head connects with it.

Rubbing at the sore spot, Dean extricates himself a little more carefully from the car he’s working on and straightens to see what all the racket is about. From the grumbling and cursing coming from the direction of the workbench at the back of the shop, he has an idea.

Confirming his suspicions, Jo is somewhat violently putting away tools, bitching and growling too low for him to catch any words. Hoping he’s not the current target of her ire, he cautiously makes his way toward the back of the shop.

“Hey, I appreciate your sudden zeal for order,” he says dryly as he watches her throw a wrench into a drawer. It nearly bounces right back out. “But if you break it, you buy it.”

Jo spins around and pins him with her glare. She has another, larger wrench clenched in her fist, and she brandishes it at him. “These tools are made of fucking steel,” she snaps. “I’m sure they’ll be fine!”

She looks pissed enough to bite through one of them, but he’s not dumb enough to tell her that. Showing no fear in the face of her bark but no bite attitude, he pulls a rag out of his back pocket and attempts to clean some of the oil off his hands. He eyes Jo for a moment before his eyes drift to the clock on the wall behind her. It’s late afternoon already, and his stomach growls to remind him that he hasn’t eaten since far too early in the morning. “You want to go to the Roadhouse and get something to eat?” he asks as if Jo isn’t seething with anger in front of him.

He isn’t surprised when she nearly explodes at the suggestion. “No, I don’t want to go to the goddamn Roadhouse. I just came from the goddamn Roadhouse, and now my appetite is ruined!”

“My treat,” he offers, ignoring her outburst.

“Are you deaf?” Jo demands. “Why the hell would I want to go back there?”

Giving up on getting his hands any cleaner without some harsh soap, Dean tucks the rag back in his pocket. Completely unafraid of Jo’s temper, and the heavy tool-slash-weapon in her hand, he steps close and slings an arm over her shoulder. He takes the wrench, twisting until it slips out of her white-knucked grip, and sets it on the bench before guiding her out of the garage and into the afternoon sunlight. “If you don’t go back, she’ll gloat about being right,” Dean says as a blast of heat hits him. He’s already sweaty from working in the garage all morning, but being out of the shade only feels a hair cooler than the surface of the sun at the moment.

“She’s _not_ ,” Jo grumbles under her breath. But her spine straightens and she shrugs out from under his arm to march ahead of him.

Dean grins after her, admiring the way the sun glints off her golden curls in an almost angelic fashion. The little spitfire definitely reminds him much more of a demon the rest of the time. A hot breeze sets him in motion again quickly though, and he hurries after her toward the air conditioned interior of the Roadhouse.

As Jo slams through the Roadhouse’s door, the bell clangs loudly to announce her, and he catches it before it swings shut, sighing in relief as cool air envelops him. He wonders what Jo and her mother are fighting about today, but knows better than to ask. Especially not within Ellen’s earshot. He can handle Jo’s temper. On a good day he can handle Ellen’s temper. He’s not stupid enough to think he can ever handle them both at once.

Jo climbs onto a stool and pulls out a menu. She glares at it sullenly, as if she doesn’t have the whole thing memorized forward and back.

“Heya Deano!” Ash calls from behind the counter. His lazy grin doesn’t falter when he turns it on Jo, even when she tries to burn holes into him with her eyes. “Hey there Joanna. Back for revenge?”

Jo only glares harder for a moment before putting him on ignore.

“Hey Ash,” Dean greets cheerfully as he settles onto a stool next to Jo.

“The usual, buddy?” Ash asks. His eyes are bloodshot, and he looks like he just rolled out of bed, but there’s a sharp mind behind that stoner facade. For the umpteenth time, Dean wonders why the hell he’s hanging around Purgatory and not off working for the CIA or some other shady organization.

It’s not worth thinking about too hard though, because he’ll never know the real answer. Ash likes to play up the mystery, and Dean wouldn’t know the truth if he heard it at this point. Instead he turns his attention to filling his empty stomach. Pie sings its siren song from under the glass dome at the end of the counter, but even with the A/C cranked up, Dean’s still feeling overly warm. “How ‘bout the usual plus a chocolate milkshake?

“With or without the wakeup?” 

“With.”

Ash taps his knuckles on the counter. “You got it, Deano.” He turns and starts working his magic with the shake mixers behind the bar, and calls through the window that opens into the kitchen. “Hey Benny, make Dean a burger.”

A head pops into view through the serving window, and Benny gives Dean a lazy salute. “Hey, brother,” he greets warmly. “It’ll be ready in a few minutes.”

Dean returns the salute and nods. He turns to his prickly neighbor. “You want anything, Jo?”

“Coffee,” she snaps.

A long sigh comes from the other end of the bar from where Ash is working his magic, and Ellen grabs the pot and carries it over to them. She pours a cup for Jo without a word, then walks away.

Dean resists rolling his eyes where mother or daughter can see him. He’s not angling for a slap upside the head, just lunch.

With a flourish, Ash whirls around and presents him with his shake, distracting Dean from the silent war going on next to him. He takes a long pull off the straw, and sighs happily at the chocolaty coffee flavor. “Thanks, man. That hits the spot.”

“Yeah, it’s damn hot out there today, ain’t it?”

They chat about the weather, even though it barely changes at this time of the year. But soon Benny’s pushing a heaping plate through the serving window and calling “Chow’s up!”

The burger is perfect. Juicy, and piled with onions, just the way Dean likes it. He digs in, groaning at the tang of sharp cheddar, and licking grease from his lips. Jo glares at him with disgust, and turns slightly away from him.

By the time he’s finished the burger and is contemplating how many fries he can manage while still finishing his shake, Ellen and Jo are busy giving each other the cold shoulder and not paying any attention to him. Ash is singing off key to the radio as he fills the salt and pepper shakers, and muted clangs and clunks from the kitchen keep him aware of Benny’s presence in the kitchn.

It’s peaceful. It’s the reason he moved back. The quiet and peace of Purgatory keep the nightmares at bay.

But he still startles easily, so when Jo digs her elbow into his ribs it’s only through supreme effort that he doesn’t try to attack her. She notices his aborted movement and raises an eyebrow at him, fully aware of what almost happened but not impressed. But she doesn’t say anything about it, instead tilting her head toward the wall of windows to their right.

“Hey look,” she says, just as he registers the loud rumble of an engine outside, “someone got lost.”

Dean turns to see a motorcycle pulling up to the Roadhouse. Gravel dust rises around the stranger as he comes to a stop, and the music from Ash’s radio seems extra loud when the bike’s engine shuts off. Dean’s eyes trace over the man’s wide shoulders under a black leather jacket as the guy reaches up and pulls off his equally dark helmet. Mesmerized, he follows the guy’s movements as he reaches up and runs fingers through the tousled dark brown hair revealed by the helmet’s removal.

This time when Jo elbows him he doesn’t jump at all, but it’s a reminder to breathe. He lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and turns his attention to her, plastering an innocent look on his face and hoping she didn’t see his reaction. Of course he’s not that lucky, and he stifles a groan at the wicket glint in her eyes. “Don’t,” he warns.

Jo shows him her teeth, more of a challenge than a smile. Behind them the bell rings over the door as the stranger walks in.

As one, he and Jo turn to see the newcomer.

The guy stops just inside the door, and smiles shyly at the sudden attention he’s receiving. “Hello,” he says with a nod of greeting before walking toward a booth near the window.s

Dean takes the greeting like a punch to the gut. The guy is hot. Smoking hot. With traces of gray at his temples and a little salt in his not-quite-a-beard. A beautiful mouth, and god those eyes. Dark, maybe blue, and Dean itches to get close enough to find out for sure. And the man’s voice, fuck. Like a shot of whiskey, going straight to Dean’s head.

A little too quickly to appear casual, he turns back to the counter and looks down at the food left on his plate. What the hell is wrong with him? He’s seen plenty of hot men before. Hell, he just has to look up and see Benny in the kitchen to find ohne.

Out of the corner of his eye he sees Ellen take the man’s order. He catches himself leaning slightly in that direction in an effort to hear the man’s voice again and immediately straightens in his seat. He stuffs a couple fries in his mouth and chews despite the fact that he can’t really taste them anymore. 

“Quit being a pussy and go talk to him,” Jo says, thankfully in a low voice that only carries to him.

“What the hell would I talk to him about?” Dean whispers back.

“You could start with an offer for a handjob,” Jo answers. When Dean chokes, she smirks and pounds him on the back, and continues as if she hadn’t nearly killed him. “Come on, it’s a great way to find out if he likes dick.”

Once his windpipe is clear he turns a glare on her. “I like dick, but if a dude started a conversation with that, I wouldn’t be impressed.”

“That’s because you suck at getting with guys,” Ash says, leaning close to join in on the conversation. “Want me to be your wingman, buddy?”

“No thanks, Ash,” Dean says dryly. “Not sure you’d be that much help.”

“I could do it,” Jo offers brightly.

“Yeah, no. That’d be worse.”

Jo punches him in the arm, and he glares at her as he rubs the aching spot. Which is a tactical error, because of course she takes it as a challenge. She gives him a downright evil smile, and slides off her stool, shimmying away from his grasping hands so he can’t prevent the disaster about to happen. She practically bounces across the hardwood floors, and plunks down on the bench opposite of the stranger.

Dean groans. This cannot possibly go well for him.


	2. Chapter 2

“What can I get for you, hun?”

Castiel looks up from the menu he’d found tucked between the ketchup bottle and salt and pepper shakers and meets the eyes of a lovely older woman whose eyes shine with welcome. He smiles openly, glad for a reason to ignore the trio at the counter with their heads together whispering to each other. They’re talking about him of course. This isn’t his first time in a small town diner, and he’s used to this reaction towards strangers. “What would you recommend?” he asks.

The woman braces a hand on her hip and gives him a considering look. She taps her pen against her bottom lip for a moment. “You know… you look like a burger kind of guy,” she says musingly.

He laughs, leaning back in his seat and shaking his head ruefully. “You’ve got me pegged.”

“Well lucky for you, this place has the best burgers in town,” she says brightly and with no sense of irony that this seems to be the  _ only _ restaurant in town, at least as far as Castiel has seen on his short drive down Main Street. “And to drink? We’ve got Pepsi stuff, cream soda, lemonade…”

Movement at the counter briefly grabs his attention, and he looks over just in time to see the man sitting there receive a punch in the arm from the young blonde woman at his side. He can’t quite see the man’s face because he’s turned away at the moment, and that’s a little disappointing. He’d still been a bit sunblind walking into the dimly lit diner from outside, and hadn’t really seen the man clearly. At least he doesn’t think so, because it seems unrealistic for a man to be as good looking as he’d seemed at first glance. 

Turning his attention back to the woman waiting for him to make a decision, he says “How about a milkshake? Strawberry if you have it?”

“You got it,” she responds. “I’m Ellen. Holler if you need anything else in the meantime.”

“Thank you ma’am.”

She leaves him with a wink and a warm smile.

Not ten seconds later, Castiel has company. The blonde woman from the counter slides into the booth across from him. “Hi!” she says brightly. “New around here?”

He blinks, and then chuckles. “How can you tell?” he asks, playing along.

“I know everyone around here, but not you,” she answers. She’s smiling, but it’s sharp. Not in a malicious way, but he can tell she’s got an agenda. “I’m Jo.”

The name suits her. Short and to the point. “Castiel,” he says, reaching across the table to shake her hand.

“Nice to meet you.” She takes his hand in a firm grip, shaking it twice before releasing him, bracing her arms on the table and leaning in with a wicked smirk. “So… do you like dick?”

There’s a choking sound from the direction of the counter, distracting Castiel from his own surprise over the question. He looks over to see Jo’s companion pounding a fist against his chest as he tries to clear his lungs. Once the man seems to no longer be in danger of asphyxiating, he turns a murderous glare on Jo.

And oh yes. He  _ is _ just as handsome as Castiel had thought. 

Either not noticing her friend’s ire, or ignoring it completely, Jo goes on. “My buddy over there left his balls at home, so I’m helping him out. He could really use a date, and you’re pretty hot, so-”

“Ellen, I am going to murder your daughter,” the man growls before getting up from his stool and approaching Castiel’s table.

“Go right ahead, dear,” Ellen calls from where she’s busy with the shake machine. “You’ll save me the trouble.”

Jo growls and shoots up from the table. “Thanks, mom. Good to see how much you really love me.” She brushes past her friend and stomps toward the door. “I’m going back to work!”

Castiel watches her dramatic exit, wincing as she slams the door behind her. He looks up at the man still standing next to his table, finding him glaring after his departed friend. It’s hard not to ogle, and Castiel doesn’t think anyone would blame him. The guy has classically handsome features--high cheekbones, a straight nose, and a stubbled jawline that makes Castiel want to bite him. But his lashes are long, his lips pink and full, and there’s something delicate about his features. It makes him more than handsome. He’s also pretty, which seems like too feminine of a word for someone who also oozes masculinity.

The man turns his attention from the door to Castiel, catching him staring. A crooked smile, spreads across his lips as a blush tries its best to obscure the freckles scattered across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, and  _ oh. _ It’s a little crooked, probably broken at some time in the past. It does absolutely nothing to detract from his beauty.

“Sorry about that,” the man says in a pleasantly deep voice. “She’s uh…”

“Feisty?” Castiel prompts. 

The man’s eyes are green. Lord save him.

He gets a chuckle at the weak joke. “That’s one way to put it,” he says with a wry shake of his head. “Anyway, I’ll let you get back to your lunch-”

“It’s still cooking,” Castiel interrupts, suddenly desperate for company. Not just because this man is a walking wet dream, but also because he can’t remember the last time he’s had someone join him for a meal. Since before leaving home, probably. He gestures to the seat across from him that Jo had vacated. “Why don’t you keep me company until it’s ready?”

The man hesitates for a moment, and his teeth slide over his bottom lip. Castiel tries very hard not to hyperfocus on the motion. He doesn’t want to creep the guy out and drive him away.

Eventually he nods and sits down in the booth. He reaches across the table, offering his hand. “I’m Dean.”

The hand that envelops Castiel’s is large and strong, and stained around the knuckles with what looks like car oil. Castiel takes note of the calluses and the scars, quickly suppressing the curiosity of what those hands would feel like against other parts of his body. “My name is Castiel.”

Dean’s eyebrows go up at the unusual name, but he doesn’t comment on it. “Nice to meet you, Castiel.” He pronounces it carefully, getting it right on the first try. “So…” he says, pulling his hand back and resting his arms on the table the way Jo had, “where you from?”

“Boston,” Castiel answers. He chuckles when Dean seems more surprised by that than his name. “What, you can’t hear it in my accent?”

“A little, now that you mention it,” Dean admits. His teeth flash in a charming smile. “This is going to sound pretty cliche, but you’re a long way from home.”

Castiel thinks of all the miles he’s put behind him, and how it still doesn’t feel like enough. “That’s kinda the idea.”

Dean tilts his head, his pretty green eyes curious.

It’s not uncommon for folks in small towns to ask him where he’s come from and where he’s going. Castiel always gives a vague answer with enough substance to satisfy curiosity without revealing the depth of the shadow he’s leaving behind him. So he’s surprised when he almost answers with the truth. Catching it behind his teeth, he gives a shrug that he hopes comes across as casual. “I just like seeing new places.”

The little white lie earns him a wistful smile. “I hear that,” Dean sighs. “I had a bit of wanderlust myself for a while. Didn’t stay away long though. There’s no place like home, right?”

Castiel chuckles. “With this heat? Yeah, I kinda miss New England.” He pauses thoughtfully, tapping a finger against his chin. “Well, maybe not the humidity.”

Dean shudders dramatically. “Humidity in the summer, and a snowpocalypse every winter? No thank you.”

Their shared laughter is interrupted when Ellen comes over with a tall shake in an old fashioned pink glass. She sets it down in front of him and drops a straw on the table next to it. “This should help with the heat. Your burger’ll be out in a few minutes.” She waves away his thanks, and retreats back around the corner.

“You’re in for a treat,” Dean says. “They make the ice cream themselves.”

“In that case, I can’t wait.” Castiel plucks one of the three fat strawberries from the top of the shake. He puts the cream covered fruit between his lips, and moans softly at the sweet-tart flavor that spreads across his tongue when he bites down.

He doesn’t miss the way Dean’s lips part, and his eyes darken as he watches Castiel lick sticky strawberry juice from his lips. Something pleasant coils low in Castiel’s belly at Dean’s reaction. He knows he’s attractive, and it’s not the first time a man has looked at him like this, but he’s never deliberately courted the attention that Dean is giving him now. 

Maybe the heat has gone to his head. Or maybe it’s Dean. Either way, Castiel is enjoying himself immensely.

The bell over the door rings, interrupting his tentative thoughts about the beautiful man sitting across from him. He looks up as Dean twists around to see who the newcomer is. A woman with short salt and pepper hair in a Sheriff’s uniform steps inside, and her eyes travel over the interior, pausing on Castiel and Dean. At a glance she wouldn’t seem intimidating, but there’s a hardness in her stare that makes Castiel sit straighter in his seat.

He must pass some kind of test, because the sheriff nods a silent greeting, which Castiel returns.

“Hey, Jody,” Dean greets brightly. “Where’s Sammy?”

“Probably drooling over his wife somewhere,” the Sheriff grumbles. Her demeanor softens when her attention settles on Dean. “If I didn’t like Eileen so much, I’d give her a piece of mind for distracting my best deputy.”

“He’s your only deputy,” Ellen points out from behind the counter. “And I’d like to see you try scolding Eileen. She’d hand you your ass.”

Jody harrumphs, but her eyes are twinkling as she settles on one of the stools at the counter. “No duh. That’s why I like her so much.” She jerks a thumb over her shoulder. “Did this idiot eat all the pie already, or is it my lucky day?”

“You bet it is,” Ellen says. “I hid the last of the pecan from him; saved it just for you.”

“Hey!” Dean protests, but the women ignore him. Pouting, he turns back to Castiel as if asking for backup.

Castiel chuckles and picks up his spoon, since the shake is too thick to comfortably eat with a straw. He scoops up a little bit of ice cream and watches Dean’s eyes drop down to his lips again when he puts the spoon in his mouth. It’s perfect, and he closes his eyes while he enjoys it. 

When he opens his eyes, he finds Dean looking at him like he’s starving. “You’re friends with the sheriff?” he asks around the melting ice cream on his tongue.

“Small town,” Dean says vacantly, his attention clearly more focused on Castiel’s mouth than his question. “Everyone’s friends with everyone. Although Jody’s more like family.”

“And ‘Deputy Sammy’?” he asks, lifting one hand and curling his fingers in quotes.

Dean snorts a laugh. “Sam’s my brother. Which you’d think would mean I could get out of speeding tickets, but he’s even more of a stickler with me.”

“I take it you know from experience?” Castiel teases before taking another bite. The diner is air conditioned, but he’s been out in the sun in his black jacket for most of the day. The ice cream is doing its job of cooling him down, while being extremely delicious.

At least until Dean’s eyes drop back to his mouth, and his internal temperature goes back up a couple degrees. He’d removed his jacket when he sat down, but Castiel wishes he could remove more layers without getting arrested for indecent exposure.

“He sure does,” Ellen says as she brings out a plate with a burger nearly buried in fries. “He watched Smokey and the Bandit way too many times when he was a boy.”

“It’s a classic!” Dean protests.

“Hell yeah it is!” a young man with a mullet shouts as he comes out of the kitchen with a stack of clean plates cradled in his arms.

“It’s a wonder you two even have licenses anymore,” the Sheriff mutters into her pie.

“Kids,” Ellen sighs fondly. She slides the plate in front of Castiel. “Careful, sugar. It’s hot.”

Castiel nods his thanks before she leaves them alone again. He pops one of the fries in his mouth, pleased at the salty crunch after the ice cream. He grins at Dean. “You have to tell me about some of your Bandit adventures.”

Dean snorts. “No. No, I don’t,” he says with a stubborn purse of his lips. The expression reveals dimples bracketing his mouth, and Castiel is even more charmed. Then he smirks, and one eyelid drops in a wink. “Not on the first date, anyway.”

It feels good to throw his head back and laugh at the flirtation. He hasn’t had such an interesting conversation in a very long time, much less a chance to flirt with someone so attractive. Probably too long, he realizes wistfully. He pushes away the shadow of painful memories, determined to enjoy Dean’s company without his past rising up to ruin his mood. “Is that what this is?” he asks.

“Whether we call it that or not, that’s what everyone’ll be saying within fifteen minutes of seeing us sitting here,” Dean says, shrugging like he’s not bothered by the idea, but his eyes skate away from Castiel’s.

“I can’t say that I mind,” Castiel says. In fact, the idea of this being a date delights him. Although he wonders if Dean is worried about being the target of the rumor mill. Small town folk aren’t always as accepting of men dating as people are where Castiel comes from. “Not if you’re okay with it.”

Dean’s gaze comes back up and he grins brightly. “Nope. Fuck ‘em.”

The smile is infectious, and Castiel grins back at him. After a moment, Dean seems to realize that they’re just sitting there staring at each other, and he clears his throat and tilts his head at the window. “That’s a nice bike,” he says.

They fall into an easy conversation about motorcycles while Castiel eats his criminally delicious meal. Dean ribs him for owning a Honda, and Castiel points out that he doesn’t have the time or patience for all the maintenance a Harley would require. It’s obvious by the way Dean talks that he knows a lot about the functions of both brands of bike, and Castiel realizes that the encyclopedic knowledge and oil stains on his hands mean he’s probably a mechanic. Dean confirms his guess, and their conversation drifts to his shop and how his true passion is restoring classic cars, but oil changes keep the lights on and food on the table.

The bell over the door jangles several times as more people arrive, and the diner quickly fills with the lunchtime crowd. He and Dean receive curious looks, but no one else comes to the table to talk to them.

Their conversation flows from subject to subject. They talk about the weather, about gas mileage of various vehicles, about the diner’s food. Castiel learns that Dean loves pie with a burning passion, and extra onions on his burgers, while Castiel admits that peanut butter is his favorite thing in the world, but a good burger is a close second--minus the onions, which Dean proclaims a blasphemy. 

When Castiel is unable to finish his fries, he pushes the plate to the center of the table, offering them to Dean who happily dives right in. He watches in fascination as Dean licks salt and ketchup from his lips…

Dean doesn’t seem to mind Castiel’s staring. He plays it up, nibbling on some of the fries to make them last longer, and pulling his bottom lip between his teeth every now and then. 

But other than that, they don’t acknowledge the attraction between them. Their conversation continues, as they talk about the town. Dean tells him about Purgatory, and how it’s bigger than it looks from main street. In addition to his shop, the Roadhouse, and a few other businesses lining Main Street, there’s a library, a grocery store hiding just off the main drag, and even an elementary school.

Castiel explains how he found his way here. He’d stopped at a truck stop off the free way to fill his tank, and when he saw the road heading toward the mountains, curiosity had turned his wheels in that direction. Eventually he’d found himself in Purgatory, and seeing the Roadhouse had reminded him of how hungry he was, so he’d stopped for lunch.

“So you decide to take random unmarked roads often?” Dean asks as he licks the salt from the last of his fries off his fingertips.

Castiel answers truthfully, unable to muster up any more lies in the face of Dean’s open curiosity. “I’m trying to get lost,” he says softly.

Dean pauses with his pinky in his mouth, and green eyes flash with understanding. He drops his hand to his lap, and one side of his mouth tilts up wryly. “Well this is a good place to do it,” he says just as softly.

They fall quiet, watching each other over the empty dishes from Castiel’s lunch. The diner is quiet, most of the patrons having already finished their meals and left again to go about their business. Twangy music plays softly on the jukebox in the corner, and Ellen sings along softly as she rummages around behind the counter.

Dean opens his mouth, but whatever he’d planned to say is cut off by the jangle of the bell over the door. Jo strides in and zeroes in on them. She smacks Dean lightly on the back of the head when she’s close enough. “Hey dummy, you coming back to work any time soon? Rufus’ truck ain’t gonna fix itself, and I have no clue what you’ve been doing with it.”

“Shit, sorry,” Dean says with an apologetic grimace, which seems more for Castiel than for Jo. “I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

Jo nods, and also smiles at Castiel in apology before taking off. Castiel notices that she deliberately ignores Ellen, who follows Jo’s exit with a frosty glare. He wonders what’s going on there, but realizes he’ll probably never find out.

Turning his attention back to Dean, he can see the knowledge there that this is probably goodbye. Silence stretches between them, and Castiel wonders if Dean is as reluctant as he is to end their short acquaintance. 

“So…” Dean says after a long moment. “It was really nice to meet you, Cas.”

“You too, Dean.”

There’s another long moment where neither of them move. Finally, Dean sighs and gets up from the table, tucking his grease stained fingers in his pockets.

Castiel stands too, and holds out a hand. He savors the warmth of Dean’s hand in his own. The handshake lasts a little longer than what’s probably considered friendly, and Castiel feels a twinge of loss when their fingers finally slide apart. He watches Dean leave, smiling when the other man pauses in the doorway and lifts his hand in a parting wave. 

The jingle of the bell over the door as it closes isn’t as cheerful this time as it has been all day.

“It’s a shame you’re just passing through.”

Castiel starts at the sound of Ellen’s voice. He gives her a rueful smile and approaches the counter. “Yeah,” he agrees softly as he pulls his wallet from his back pocket. “What do I owe you?”

Ellen’s eyes are warmly sympathetic. “It’s on the house, darlin’.”

“That’s not necessary.”

She waves a dismissive hand. “If you knew how rare it is to see him that cheerful, you’d understand.”

Castiel glances over his shoulder. Through the dusty glass in the door, he can just barely see movement in the garage across the street. “Really? Why?” he asks, turning back to Ellen.

Her smile is sad as she comes out from behind the counter and begins to collect the dishes from the table he’d shared with Dean for several hours. “That’s his story to tell,” she says before turning away and taking the dishes through the door leading back to the kitchen.

Castiel stares blankly after her. Dean had been cheerful, his laugh brighter than sunshine, and his eyes sparkling while they conversed. Curiosity eats at him. What demons could Dean have that brings out such concern in a woman who seems so fond of him. 

Shaking his head, Castiel tells himself it isn’t his business. Dean is a nice man that Castiel spent an enjoyable meal with. And Castiel is a drifter, already planning how many hours he can drive before he needs to find a place to stay for the night.

He slips on his jacket and goes outside, already feeling melancholy over the last time he’s going to hear the little bell over the door. He unclips his helmet from his bike and hefts it. Already he can feel the sun attempting to beat him into submission, even though it’s much closer to the horizon now. Once he gets on the road the wind will cool him down, and he can probably get back to the freeway and drive until dark until he’s ready to find a motel.

He looks across the street at the garage. Its doors are pulled down now, and he feels a tug under his sternum, but towards the building where Dean is working, rather than toward the open road.

He would like…

Squashing down that thought, Castiel shoves his helmet on his head and buckles it under his chin. It’s time to go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't expect to update daily, so don't get used to this lol... I wasn't sure I would even keep working on this until I was already more than halfway done with chapter 2, so I didn't post chapter 1 for a while after I wrote it. I'll probably stick with my usual once a week posting schedule XD


	3. Chapter 3

Castiel pulls out of the diner parking lot slowly. There’s a cop cruiser parked down the street, a warning not to speed through this town. He gives a small salute as he drives past, and smiles behind the visor of his helmet when the sheriff raises a hand in a wave.

Purgatory isn’t so small that it doesn’t have street lights, although the way Dean talked about it, Castiel would have thought so. When he stops at the first light he looks around, taking in the local businesses. There’s a bank and an antique store to his right, a small grocery store and a hardware store to his left, and more shops line both sides of the street.

The light turns green, and as Castiel continues down the street a sign for a laundromat catches his attention. He slows slightly, his mind going to the contents of his saddlebags. He doesn’t have much clothing with him, and at the moment all of it could use a wash. As he draws closer he sees a motel right across the street. He glances at the darkening sky--had he really spent so much time chatting with Dean?--and decides Purgatory is as good a place as any to spend the night.

He pulls into the motel parking lot. It’s empty, but the lights are still on in the main office so he parks right next to the door and goes inside. 

An older black man is lounging in the chair behind the counter with his feet up on the desk, reading a bass fishing magazine. He looks up over the edge with an expression that communicates clear as words that he’s irritated by the interruption. “I suppose you want a room?” he drawls.

Another voice comes from the open office door behind him. “Rufus, don’t be rude to the customers.”

Rufus casts a baleful look at the door, then turns his displeasure on Castiel. “Well?”

“Oh for hell’s sake, Rufus!” Another older man with a scruffy beard and a trucker cap stomps out of the office. “Jesus, I don’t even know why I bother paying you. Go find something productive to do.”

“It’s Sabbath,” Rufus protests. He settles down more firmly in his chair and raises his magazine back up. “I ain’t gotta do shit, right now.”

“It’s Thursday, ya idjit.”

“Don’t oppress me!”

Giving up with a truly impressive roll of his eyes, the man in the trucker cap gives his attention fully to Castiel. “Hi, welcome. Do you need a room?” He’s only slightly less brusque than Rufus, but his eyes twinkle with humor.

A grin at their antics twitches at Castiel’s lips. “Yes, please.”

Nodding, the man begins gathering Castiel’s information, chicken pecking it into the ancient computer behind the counter after brushing Rufus’ feet out of his way. “You here for the rock climbing, or just passing through?” he asks.

“Rock climbing?” Castiel asks, interested. “Is that a popular activity around here?”

The man grunts what might be a laugh and gestures to the windows. “Did you not see the big damn mountains out there?”

Castiel glances outside. The town is surrounded by a ring of low mountains, and he’d been admiring the red rock formations the whole day as he’d followed the highway that had led him here. “This place is kind of tucked back away from the freeway, and I only found it on accident,” he says. “I’ve been through a few larger towns and they have billboards all over to attract tourists. I didn’t see a single sign on the way in, so I don’t imagine many tourists would know this place is here.”

Bobby shrugs. “We’re a well kept secret, but we get our share of visitors.” He pulls an old fashioned key on a palm sized keychain out from under the counter and passes it over. “There you go. Last room on the top floor. Stairs are just outside.”

Castiel thanks him quietly and takes the key. He turns to leave, but is stopped when the man calls after him.

“If you need anything, be sure to ask. I’m Bobby, and this is Rufus. Despite his bad attitude, he’s willing to help as well.” 

Rufus grunts from behind his magazine.

“Thank you,” Castiel says with a smile before slipping out the door.

He unhooks his saddlebags from his bike and makes his way up to his room. The building’s exterior is just like any other shabby, small town motel he’s stayed in, but the room is surprisingly pleasant. It’s decorated in warm, welcoming colors, and the bed has what looks like a handmade patchwork quilt and two large fluffy looking pillows. There’s a full sized dresser with a large TV on top of it, that apparently has cable if the little next to it is to be believed. A window at the back of the room has a gorgeous west facing view of the mountains, and it’s hung with thick curtains to keep out the light of day should he wish to sleep in. And the small bathroom doesn’t look like something out of a Stephen King movie, which is impressive. Most motel bathrooms look like portals to Hell.

Once his short exploration is finished, he tosses his bags on the bed and pulls his jacket off. He really wants to get in the shower and wash off the sweat and grime from the road off, but he doesn’t have anything clean to put on afterwards. A trip to the laundromat is definitely a top priority.

He keeps his dirty clothes in a small canvas bag for easier carrying, and he pulls it out. Tucking his keys and wallet in his pocket, he makes his way outside. It’s just a short walk across the street to the laundromat, but it’s still hot outside since the sun is still above the horizon. It’s sinking fast, and he’s looking forward to cooler temperatures.

At first glance the laundromat seems empty, but just inside the door Castiel realizes his mistake. Near the back a washer is pulled away from the wall. Tools clank as someone behind the machine works on it.

“Hello?” he calls, but there’s no response. As the door swings shut behind him a light blinks rapidly overhead.

A head pops out from behind the machine, and a lovely woman maybe a few years younger than him gives him a welcoming smile. “Oh hello,” she says cheerfully. “Don’t mind me, just fixing this up. The washers over there are still working.” She gestures to another row of washers with a pair of pliers, and then ducks back down to whatever she was working on.

He can tell by her accent that she’s likely deaf, and the flashing light makes more sense now. He makes a mental note to be careful not to startle her as he moves around the place. After setting down his laundry, he visits the change machine, and then the vending machine that sells single boxes of detergent. It takes his quarters, and he watches through the glass as the spiral wires turn. 

The little box gets stuck.

“Shit,” he mutters. He rocks the machine a little bit, but the box doesn’t move.

“Did it steal your money?”

Castiel turns to see the woman peeking out from behind the washer again. “Yeah,” he sighs. And then digging up his dusty knowledge of ASL, he turns to her and signs as he speaks. “I don’t suppose you know if a good hard kick will fix it?”

Her eyes light up when his hands move in her language, and she steps out from behind the washer to free her hands and speak back. “No, but I’ll show you the trick.”

Castiel moves out of her way when she comes up next to him. She hooks a foot under the bottom edge of the vending machine, and plants her palms near the top of it. Lifting and pushing at the same time, she raises the front end of the machine about an inch off the floor and then drops it. The box of soap gets rattled free, and drops down to the vending slot with a thunk.

She bends down and pulls the box out, presenting it to him with a triumphant flourish.

Laughing at her showmanship, he accepts the box. “Thank you…” he trails off questioningly and in sign, asks what he should call her.

“I’m Eileen,” she answers out loud.

“Thank you, Eileen. I’m Castiel.” He spells it first and then shares his sign name, a C and then a flap of his hand, which is half the sign for “angel”.

She perks up again. “You have a sign name?”

“My tutor gave it to me when she learned my name is an angel name.”

“I like it,” Eileen says with a confirming nod.

She walks with him back to the washer where he’d left his things. With a hop, she lifts herself up to sit on the washer next to the one he’s using, and leans toward him eagerly. “I haven’t seen you around. Have you been here long?”

“I just stopped in town for a meal.” He keeps his face turned toward her so she can read his lips while he loads quarters into the machine. “Decided to stay for the night and take care of some laundry while I’m here.”

“Have you been out camping?”

“Road tripping,” he corrects, as he starts loading his clothes. “Is camping around here very popular?”

Eileen shrugs. “There’s a lot of nice places up the canyons around here if you’re into that. We get a lot of people stopping for supplies on their way through.”

He nods thoughtfully, and then pushes a button to start the machine. Leaning a hip against it, he signs as he speaks. “Bobby at the motel mentioned rock climbing too.”

“Oh yeah, and there’s mountain biking, and some really nice hiking trails.” She grins and shakes her head. “It all lost its charm for me after living here for a while.”

“You’re not from around here?” he asks.

“Nope, I’m from Ireland. I met my husband in college, and moved back here with him.”

“That’s a long way from home,” he says, thinking of how far away from home he is right now. It would only take him a few days of long rides to get back there, which isn’t very comforting. Even putting an ocean and half a continent between himself and what he left behind doesn’t feel like enough.

“It sure is,” Eileen agrees, pulling him from his melancholy thoughts. 

Maybe it’s morbid curiosity, but he asks the question that he hopes no one ever asks him. “Do you ever miss home?”

She shrugs. “I don’t have any family there anymore, and I made my closest friends here, so not much.” The words seem wistful, but that’s quickly overtaken by the humor that sparks in her eyes. “I miss the weather sometimes though. Getting used to the heat here is a bitch, which means I’m even less interested in hiking. Boiling my brains out in the sun is not my thing.”

Glad for the more playful turn of the conversation, Castiel mocks a shudder, and smiles when it makes her laugh. “Not my thing either. But I won’t be around to try it. I’ll be leaving in the morning.”

“Really? Going anywhere particular?”

 _Away_ , he thinks. But he’s not going to darken the mood by telling her that. 

Before he can formulate an answer that won’t raise too many questions, the door swings open and the lights flicker. He and Eileen both look to see who the newcomer is. A man Castiel recognizes instantly walks through the door, carrying a toolbox.

“Hey Eileen, I brought those tools you needed-” Dean breaks off when he sees Castiel and Eileen near the washers. A warm smile spreads across his features when his eyes fall on Castiel. “Hi again.”

The deep timber of Dean’s voice makes Castiel straighten, because if he doesn’t lock his knees they might just give up on him. “Hello Dean.”

The moment stretches out between them, and Castiel can feel the dopey smile curving his own lips. He’d regretted watching Dean walk away from the diner, but had been resigned to never seeing him again. Seeing him here seems like a gift of fate.

Apparently realizing that he’s been staring too long, Dean clears his throat and turns his attention to Eileen. He lifts the toolbox in his hand a few inches. “I brought those tools you needed.” 

Eileen hops off the washer and reaches to relieve him of the toolbox, but Dean holds it away from her and motions for her to lead him to the project she’s working on. She rolls her eyes at him, but leads him back to the washer pulled out from the wall. “You two have met?” she asks.

Dean casts a glance at Castiel, turning his head just enough to sneak wink to him. “We had dinner together.”

Eileen looks back and forth between them, and curiosity rolls off her in waves. But she decides not to probe further, instead pulling Dean behind the broken washer so they can get to the business of fixing it.

Or possibly grilling Dean for information where Castiel can’t see them signing. 

But instead, he hears their conversation clearly as they both bend over the machine. Most of what they say goes over Castiel’s head, but whatever is wrong seems to be an electrical issue. Curious, and with nothing better to do while he waits for his laundry to finish, he wanders over to see what they’re doing.

Dean glances up at him and flashes a smile. He has a flashlight propped precariously between his jaw and shoulder while he holds something for Eileen. “Hey, can you hold this?”

Castiel takes the flashlight, and a shiver of awareness runs up his arm when his fingers brush Dean’s jaw. By the way Dean looks at him, it’s obvious he noticed. Ignoring the way his pulse rate picks up, Castiel directs the beam down toward Dean and Eileen’s hands.

“Oh that’s much better,” Eileen says without looking up. “Thank you.”

It takes another fifteen minutes or so for her to fix whatever’s wrong, and when Castiel turns on the washer at Eileen’s direction she jumps up with a whoop of victory. Dean rises more slowly to his feet, favoring his right knee, and grins at Castiel over her head.

“All done?” he asks her.

“Good as new,” she proclaims, patting the washer as if it were a particularly well behaved child. “And now I’d better get out of here. I told Sam I’d meet him--”

The sound of the door opening and the flash overhead lights brings all their attention around to the entrance. A very tall man in a uniform, with a badge glinting on his chest, fills the doorway. He surveys the situation with a cool gaze that makes Castiel realize he doesn’t want to be on this man’s bad side when it lands on him. Castiel isn’t easily intimidated, especially not by law enforcement, but he’s also smart enough to step lightly around a man that exudes so much authority.

Then the man’s eyes slide over to Eileen, and the giant lawman morphs into a smitten puppy.

“Speak of the devil,” Dean says with a grin. He throws an arm over Eileen’s shoulder and pulls her into his side. “Heya Sammy! You’re too late, I’ve stolen your wife’s heart and we’re running off to the big city together.”

Now that he knows the deputy is Dean’s brother, he can see the family resemblance. There are obvious differences. Aside from their height, Sam’s hair is shaggy and hangs past his ears, where Dean’s is cropped short and spikey. Their hair is both brown, but not the same shade, and their eyes are slightly different. But there’s something about the shapes of their faces, and the way they hold themselves that proclaims them family.

“I thought you learned your lesson about trying to steal girls from me in high school,” Sam says, rolling his eyes. He holds out an arm, and Eileen wiggles out of Dean’s grip and flings herself at Sam, who places a kiss on the top of her head. His eyes sparkle with mischief when he looks at his brother. “Mainly that I’m the better man.”

Dean snorts. “Sure, whatever.”

Sam smirks at him, and then turns his attention to Castiel. His eyes grow cool once again. “You’re not from around here.”

For a town that apparently gets tourists, Castiel feels like people are pointing out that he’s the stranger in town an awful lot. “I stopped in town for a meal, and decided to stay for the night. I don’t feel like driving in the dark to get to the next town, and I needed to get some laundry done anyway.”

“Just passing through, huh?” Sam asks, still watching him intently.

Eileen elbows him in the side. “Stop trying to intimidate him.”

Sam winces and turns sad, bewildered eyes on her. “I wasn’t trying to--” he breaks off and holds up a staying hand when she glares at him. “Okay, I’m sorry!” And he turns to Castiel, his whole demeanor changing from intimidating cop to normal guy in a uniform. “I’m sorry! It’s the badge, it makes me want to keep an eye on the strangers in my town, you know?”

Castiel chuckles. He understands perfectly, more than any of them would know. But any wariness he felt in the beginning was instantly dispelled by the way Sam looked at his wife. The man is a tough shell with gooey insides. “No offense taken,” he says. Holding out his hand, he introduces himself. “Castiel Milton.”

“Sam Winchester,” the other man says as he accepts Castiel’s hand, and this time his tone is completely friendly. “And while it’s nice to meet you, I am going to take my wife home now, because I haven’t seen her all day and I miss her.”

“Sap,” Dean murmurs.

“Says the dude who can quote any 90’s chick flick,” Sam snipes back. 

Eileen gives Castiel a _what-am-I-supposed-to-do-with-them_ look, before grabbing her toolbox and dragging Sam out the door. “You fellas have a good night!” she singsongs on the way out.

Castiel watches them go with a smile. He looks over to find Dean looking back at him with a toothy grin.

Suddenly it occurs to Castiel that they’re completely alone, and excitement bubbles up inside of him.

By the gleam in Dean’s eye, he thinks he’s not the only one looking forward to some privacy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, I used to write much shorter chapters than I do now. These are like half of what I'd do in any of my more recent longfics! Of course, now that I'm doing a rewrite, they're getting longer...
> 
> Also it occurred to me yesterday that what I'm doing is the equivalent of an artist doing a redraw to show how much their style has improved and changed. Neat! XD


	4. Chapter 4

Dean rolls his eyes fondly at his brother and sister-in-law. How did they get even more gross after they got married?

He’s happy for them though. Sam had a rough go with college girlfriends, first because of Jess’ tragic death, and then Ruby draggin him through Hell and dropping his ass in rehab. Third time was a charm though, and Dean can’t believe what a positive influence Eileen has been on Sam’s life. On all their lives.

Hell, she puts up with Dean’s shenanigans, and his crappy attempts at ASL. If Sam hadn’t called dibs, Dean might have dated her. Not that he would have had an opportunity to meet her first, since he’d enlisted right out of high school, but he likes to tease Sam about stealing her. It makes Sam appreciate her more. Or at least that’s what Dean’s going to keep telling Sam, because every bitchface he gets for saying so is a fucking delight.

When the overhead light stops flashing, Dean turns his attention to Castiel. He looks hot and tired, but still gorgeous. And his eyes are just as blue as Dean remembered. After he left the diner, he began to doubt his own mind.

Aaaand he’s staring again. Clearing his throat, he turns away to push the newly repaired washer back into its place against the wall. “So you’re staying the night?” 

He’s going for casual. He’s not sure he hit it.

“Yes,” Castiel answers, in the deep sandpaper voice that Dean also thought he might have imagined. “I wasn’t sure how long it would take me to get to the next town, and when I saw the motel and the laundromat I figured this was as good a place as any to stop for the night.”

Guilt threads through Dean’s chest. He’d already gotten a piece of Jo’s mind for spending half the day mooning over Castiel and not doing anything about it, but knowing that he’d delayed Castiel’s plans… “Sorry if I messed up your schedule.”

Castiel’s head tilts, his eyes narrow, and he lookslike a confused crow with his dark hair still all wild and messy from his helmet. Or maybe that’s just the way his hair always is. Dean kinda likes the idea of that. 

“No need to apologize,” he says. “I don’t have a schedule. I just ride until I feel like stopping.”

During the hours they’d spent talking, Dean had avoided asking too much about Castiel’s plans. He hadn’t wanted to think about how quickly Castiel would be riding back out of town again. But he’s damn curious, and now he’s got a second chance to learn more. “So are you on vacation, or…?”

Castiel glances away, shifting from one foot to the other, and Dean curses himself for digging. But he can’t take it back before Castiel speaks. “I’m on an extended leave of absence,” Castiel says. He looks back at Dean with a smile, but there’s something closed about his expression that warns of dangerous territory. “I’m not in a hurry to get home any time soon.”

He’s running from something. Dean recognizes the signs, because he knows from experience. Although in his own case, running away had meant coming home to Purgatory after being gone for most of his adult life. Like any kid from a small town, he’d dreamed of getting out of here, and he’d taken off as soon as he was legally able to. But when the world fell apart around him, he’d come back to the start, to the first piece in the project of rebuilding his life.

And now he’s stuck again, barely able to handle the drive to the nearest big town for a shopping trip. He regrets leaving Baby parked behind the garage so much. She belongs on the open road, but he doesn’t. Not anymore. He needs stability, familiarity. He knows every building, every street, and every person in Purgatory. There is nothing haunting him here, and there’s a very low risk of turning a corner and reliving an unpleasant memory of screams and gunfire.

What kind of monsters are chasing Castiel? Dean wants to know, and not just out of simple curiosity. The inexplicable need to comfort and protect prods at him to learn more, to find out how to defeat Castiel’s past for him. 

It’s ridiculous. He barely knows Castiel, and has no right to dig into his past or his privacy.

But he’d like to get to know him. If he weren’t leaving in the morning, probably never to return.

“That must be nice,” he says with a wry grin, ignoring the burn of curiosity in his chest. “The downside to being my own boss is that I can’t usually justify taking a sick day, much less a vacation.”

The sparkle comes back to Castiel’s eyes. “Well it’s no wonder. It would be difficult to call in sick without feeling weird for talking to yourself.”

The joke startles Dean and he snorts out a laugh. “Oh man, Jo would never let me live that down,” he agrees. “On the other hand, if she thinks I’ve gone cuckoo for cocoa puffs, she might be the one insisting I take the time off.” He leans in, grinning conspiratorially. “Now I have a plan for the next time I feel like blowing off work.”

Castiel’s laugh resonates through Dean, knocking things loose that he hadn’t realized were so tightly wound up. What is it about this guy that makes him feel like a giddy teen? Hell, he doesn’t think he’d ever felt like this when he  _ was _ a teenager. Sneaking behind the bleachers with Benny had been exciting, but scary too because there was the risk of getting caught. And there was Rhonda, making his heart flutter with nerves even as she told him how pretty he looked in her panties. Both experiences had been fun, but the excitement was tainted by insecurities that he doesn’t experience anymore. And none of his adult dating experiences made him feel like this. Like a kid with a crush, drinking up any smile or laugh he can get from the object of his twitterpation.

Even with the mystery shrouding him, Dean doesn’t feel nervous around Castiel. Whatever attraction is sparking between them feels pure… profound, even.

It’s not just about sex, either. Sure, he wouldn’t turn down a chance to mess up the sheets. He’d  _ love _ to get his hands under the man’s clothes and discover all his hot buttons. But he likes just hanging out with him. Talking, and laughing about whatever. And he wishes Castiel was sticking around, so Dean could really get to know him. So Castiel could get to know him, too. The real him, not the person everyone in Purgatory thinks they know.

He’d thought for sure he’d never see Castiel again after they ended their pseudo-date earlier, and running into him here feels like kismet. He resists the impulse to ask him to stick around for a few days, because what good would it do? Castiel has a life out there, even if he’s avoiding it right now. Still, the words hang on the tip of his tongue. It’s tempting. So tempting.

But instead he asks “what kind of work lets you take an extended leave of absence?”

A shadow passes over Castiel’s features. His smile doesn’t drop, but the sincerity does. “I’m a cop.”

“Really?” Of all the things Dean expected, it wasn’t that. But now that he knows the truth, he can see it. Castiel has an aura of authority around him. A way of holding himself that says he can either snap to attention or snap orders at any second. Which is… all kinds of hot.

He makes the mistake of picturing Castiel in Uniform. And then he imagines Castiel slowly removing pieces until it’s reduced to the hat, belt, a jockstrap, and boots (how does he take off the pants without removing his boots? Who cares? It’s fantasy!).  _ Aaand that’s enough of that, _ he thinks as he shifts his hips to find a more comfortable position.

Thankfully Castiel doesn’t seem to notice Dean’s reaction. “A detective, actually,” he says. “Just like my dad was before me, and all my uncles and cousins. It’s kind of a family thing.”

Talking career paths is much safer than the path Dean’s imagination was trying to take him. “I joined the army for the same reason.” He hooks a finger under the collar of his shirt, hooking it around the chain of the dog-tags he still wears. He tugs them out, holding the chain up a little to display them for a moment before dropping them back to his chest over his t-shirt. “My dad was a vet too.”

“I’m assuming you didn’t want to go career?” Castiel eyes the silver tabs. “Since you’re running the garage now?”

This time when Dean shifts on his feet, it’s not because his pants are too tight for comfort. He drops his gaze to the white and gold linoleum under his feet and shrugs. “I was honorably discharged after I was…” he rubs the top of his thigh, wincing at unpleasant memories of surgery recovery and physical therapy--and the reason for his fancy new knee in the first place, but he lets his thoughts flick away from that almost as soon as they touch on the memory. “After I was injured,” he finished quietly. 

When he looks up he finds Castiel watching his hand, and he jerks it away, tucking it in his pocket instead. “Back when my dad retired from the military, he opened the garage in Purgatory,” he explains, putting as much nonchalance into his voice as he can muster. “When I came home after my discharge, I took over the shop.”

“So he’s retired now?” Castiel asks. 

“Uh, he passed,” Dean murmurs. It’s not his favorite subject, but there’s more distance between their deaths than the events that led up to Dean’s injuries and discharge from service. Bitterly he wonders how his life has come to a point that speaking of the loss of his parents is “easy” now. “And my mom. Car accident when I was sixteen,” he says. Castiel’s eyes immediately turn sorrowful, and Dean tries to wave away his sympathy. “It was a long time ago.”

“Yes, but I’m sure you miss them anyway,” Castiel says quietly. “And losing them suddenly like that must have been very difficult for you.”

Dean nods shakily, wishing the subject hadn’t come up, but also grateful for Castiel’s understanding. “Sometimes it hits me out of nowhere. Pretty hard,” he admits. “But it was half my life ago, and I don’t think about it constantly anymore. Time heals all wounds, right?” 

He fucking hopes so anyway. Maybe someday his head will eventually screw itself back on straight. His therapist seems to also think it’ll take time, and work too, but he’s beginning to wonder if there are some traumas that just can’t be overcome.

Castiel’s pretty blue eyes skitter away, and again Dean wonders what’s chasing him. “Yes, I suppose that’s true.”

He’s not just hiding from something. He’s suffering. Dean is more certain of it than ever. He’s itching to ask more questions. Is it something with his job? Maybe an ex lover? Castiel isn’t wearing a wedding ring, but that doesn’t mean he hasn’t left someone he cares about behind.

The sudden burning jealousy in Dean’s gut is a surprise. He’s only known Castiel for the space of a few hours, and it’s ridiculous that he should feel even an iota of possessiveness. Maybe he should go find Jo and request a good hard smack up-side the head, to knock loose whatever crazy has taken root up there.

The buzz of the washing machine startles him nearly out of his skin, and his hands automatically reach for weapons he no longer carries. A hum fills his ears, getting louder and louder, distorting into rapid gunfire and voices raised in pain and fear. One moment he’s standing in a dingy little laundromat in a one horse town, and the next he’s standing in the dusty streets of a village on the other side of the world. 

His fingers close over air, and his mind slides back to the here and now.

He sucks in a breath, and presses a trembling hand over his sternum.

“Are you alright?” Castiel asks warily. He takes a step closer, but doesn’t reach out to touch, which Dean is grateful for. 

Dean’s heart is drumming out a frantic rhythm under his palm, and his lungs ache like he just finished a five mile run. His throat feels raw when he swallows, as if he’s been screaming, but it’s only the soap scented air of the laundromat ripping in and out of his lungs as he fights with panic. Forcing himself to slow it down, he takes a few deep breaths before he’s able to nod jerkily.

At least until the machine buzzes again.

Castiel realizes this time what the problem is and hurries to turn off the machine. He doesn’t even look at the clothes inside, moving to Dean’s side instead. He’s still careful not to touch, and even stops before Dean would feel crowded by his presence.

“You don’t look so hot,” Castiel says in a low, gentle tone.

Somehow that husky voice smoothes over Dean’s nerves, and his trembling subsides a little bit. He wipes a hand over his face, glad to find that he hasn’t broken out into a flop sweat. That’s way more embarrassing than shaking fingers, especially in front of a guy he’d been picturing in his underwear. “Yeah, I’m--” he cuts off short of lying and he hopes his therapist is fucking proud of him. The woman’s psychic, she’ll  _ know. _ “I’ll be fine. But I should probably get home.” Just in case things start to get worse instead of better.

Castiel doesn’t look like he believes it, but he nods and steps back to give Dean some room. “Okay. Thank you for keeping me company.”

It feels wobbly, but Dean smiles. “Anytime.” It’s the standard offhand answer to gratitude, but it’s the truth too. He wishes he could keep Castiel company for as long as he wants. That they had all the time in the world.

But life doesn’t work that way, and Castiel is leaving in the morning. It’s probably better that Dean cut things short anyway, before he gets attached enough to really miss him when he’s gone. Grabbing his toolbox, lighter now after Eileen stole some of his tools, he heads for the door. The lights blink overhead when he pulls it open, but Castiel’s voice stops him before he can walk through.

“You’re really going to be okay?” Castiel calls softly

Dean looks over his shoulder and meets worried blue eyes. Damn, he really wants to ask Castiel to stay for a few days. Tomorrow is Friday, and they could catch a movie at the drive in or get a drink, and maybe on Saturday--he cuts the thoughts off. He goes for a reassuring smile. “Yeah,” he says. “I will be. All I need is time.”

Castiel doesn’t look convinced, but he at least gives Dean the courtesy of pretending he does. “Right,” he says with a smile that looks as wistful as Dean feels. “Goodnight, Dean.”

“‘Night, Cas,” Dean replies, before slipping out the door and into the heat. It’s deep evening now, the sky multicolored as the sun slips behind the western mountains.

Despite the heat, his body starts shaking again. The strength in his legs wavers as he makes his way to his car, and it’s a relief to slide into the driver’s seat so he doesn’t have to worry about collapsing in the street. It takes him a couple tries to get the key in the ignition because his fingers don’t want to cooperate. He closes his eyes and takes three deep, even breaths. It helps, a little, and he’s able to start the engine. 

The deep purr of Baby’s engine is comforting, and he’s tempted to take her for a drive. To feel the breeze through the windows, and the rumble of asphalt disappearing under Baby’s tires. 

But then his heartbeat kicks back up at the idea of wide open, unfamiliar spaces. His mind screams at him to get home, get safe.

Underneath it all is a whisper telling him to go back in the laundromat.

He really hopes he’s got enough whiskey at home to drown it all out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I first started writing fics, I'd post chapters every other day or so, and then I started going longer and longer between chapters. I thought I was being lazy. Nope. I just went from writing 2-3k chapters to 4-6k chapters. THESE CHAPTERS FEEL SO SHORT NOW! XD


	5. Chapter 5

Time heals all wounds. Everyone says it, but Castiel doesn’t know if he believes it. The memory of the fear and disgust in Hannah’s eyes when she’d told him to leave is still as sharp as the knife that had sliced into his belly when he’d protected her from a mugger. Nearly two years later, he barely remembers the pain of the physical injury that started the rapid decline of his marriage, but the cuts to his heart are still festering, open wounds.

Rubbing at the scar on his abdomen, he shakes his head in an attempt to dislodge uncomfortable memories. He puts his laundry in the dryer, and watches it tumble through the glass door while letting his mind wander to Dean instead. 

The man is obviously suffering. Some sort of PTSD? If he’s ex-military, it’s not unexpected. Especially if he’d been injured badly enough to be discharged. What kind of scars, physical or otherwise, is he hiding?

When the dryer buzzes, he thinks of how Dean had startled earlier when the washer finished. As he folds his clothes neatly and tucks them away in his canvas bag, he tries not to feel guilty for letting Dean leave on his own. 

Maybe he should have done something. He’d trained in handling people having panic attacks while he was in the force, and he has some experience using those skills. But Dean had seemed to be in control, and wanted to go home. The desperation in his green eyes, dark with whatever demons plagued him, had convinced Castiel that it was the best thing for him at the moment.

Still though, he wished he’d done more. Maybe touching him would have been a comfort. For a moment, he’d thought Dean might have wanted him to…

When he gets back to his room, he tosses the canvas bag on the floor next to his bed, and he stares at the brightly colored patchwork quilt covering the mattress. He’s suddenly bone tired. His eyes feel gritty, and it feels like struggling through a pool of honey when he moves his limbs. 

The breeze from the air conditioning unit under the window feels divine, but it reminds him that he’s dusty and sweaty. A yawn cracks his jaw, and he stares down at the bed longingly. There’s no way he’s getting into it without a shower first. It seems sacreligious to even consider it.

He makes his way into the bathroom and strips down mechanically. Before he gets in the shower he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror and he pauses to take a good look. 

Hannah had always said she admired his lack of vanity, but the truth is that he’s always taken good care of himself. He can’t help it that his hair is unmanageable without pasting it down with hair products, and that he’s usually sporting a five o’clock shadow by lunch time. And he is a little bit vain, because he thinks he’s attractive, and has a nice body. 

He’s lost muscle mass since his time in the hospital, but he no longer looks quite so emaciated. His shoulders are broad, and his muscles have firmed back up. A light dusting of dark hair trails from his chest down to his groin, but he’s nowhere close to furry. At least that’s what Hannah always jokingly told him. 

Turning slightly reveals the pink scar where the mugger’s knife had sliced from low on his belly up to just under his ribs in the reflection. He runs his fingers over it, contemplating how he can still so clearly remember the ghost of pain, even though the scar and some of the skin around it is numb.

He wonders if Dean would want to get naked and share scar stories.

Snorting at himself, he gets in the shower and pulls the curtain shut. He hisses when the water comes out icy at first, but then sighs and leans into the spray as it warms. Sweat and dust sluices from his skin, and it’s a relief to get clean. 

He needs to duck his head to get it under the spray, because there’s not a motel in the world built to accommodate a six foot tall human. As he scrubs his fingers through it, building up a weak lather with the cheap complimentary shampoo, he notices that it’s getting long. He’ll need to stop somewhere and get a cut soon.

Maybe he could see if there’s a barber in town before he leaves. Wistfully he imagines running into Dean again while he’s there. Dean seems to keep his hair pretty short, so maybe he’d get lucky and the handsome mechanic will show up again.

Thinking of Dean’s hair leads him to wondering at its texture. Is it soft like his own? Or are the strands thick and coarse? Would the red highlights he’d seen in the sunlight disappear as it turns dark with water?

Imagining himself running his fingers through Dean’s hair turns into fantasies about touching him other places as well. He wants to run his fingers over the stubbled edge of his jaw, to feel the flutter of his pulse at the base of his neck. His fingers slide down his own throat, mapping all the places he wants to explore on Dean’s body. He stops at his nipples, plucking at each one until they perk up, then continues down his stomach, and further.

When he finally takes himself in hand, he groans. How long has it been? He and Hannah had been married long enough that their sex life had slowed down considerably, and she certainly hadn’t touched him since… his mind skitters away from those thoughts. But he acknowledges that it has been a very long time since he’s been with anyone, and months since he’s even thought of taking care of his own needs.

Imagining smiling green eyes reminds him that his body has been severely neglected. He hesitates only briefly over using Dean in his sexual fantasies, but it’s not like they’re ever going to meet again. He strokes himself gently, enjoying the sensation of water sluicing down over his heated body. He pictures himself doing this in front of Dean, and his mouth falls open on a gasp. His head tips over, and warm water flows over the back of his neck. He watches his own hand, tightening his grip, increasing the speed of the strokes. 

And then he closes his eyes and lets himself pretend that it’s someone else’s hand. A hand with dark grease stains in the craggy skin of the knuckles, and calluses on the palm and fingers.

When his orgasm punches through his gut, he grits his teeth to hold back the name on his tongue. 

Exhaustion overwhelms him almost immediately, and he has to lean against the tiled wall to stay upright. He lets the water wash away the evidence of his small indiscretion, along with any semblance of active thought.

A dull ache begins to build behind his eyes, and when he opens them there are halos around the overhead lights. Groaning in disappointment, he straightens and ducks his head under the water again. He probably spent too much time in the heat, and now his body is punishing him with a migraine. No wonder he’s so much more tired than it seems he should be.

Hopefully he’ll be able to sleep it off. But he’ll have to get into bed with all the lights out as soon as he can. He finishes his shower, and towels off haphazardly, leaving patches of damp skin exposed to the air. 

Fumbling to turn off the light, he drops the towel to the bathroom floor. His feet drag across the carpet on the way to the bed, where he falls face down on top of the quilt. Being horizontal feels amazing, but he forces himself to get up just long enough to pull the blanket back and crawl under it. He wiggles onto his stomach, pulls the pillow over his head, and breathes in the clean scent of the sheets.

Even closed against the light, his eyes ache. It’s starting to spread over his skull, and he knows soon it will start to thud to the rhythm of his heartbeat. 

To distract himself, he thinks of pretty green eyes and a deep laugh. Eventually the exhaustion overtakes him, and he slips into sleep.

Unfortunately, thoughts of Dean do not follow him into his dreams.

_ Doctors bent over him, shouting directions. _

_ Overhead lights flashing by overhead like lines on a highway. _

_ “Hannah?” _

_ “You’ve just come out of surgery, Mr. Milton.” _

_ The masked faces of doctors swim in and out of sight, sometimes interspersed with his father’s stoic blue eyes, and his mother’s flame red hair.  _

_ “Where’s Hannah?” he asks, but no one answers. _

_ When he tries to move, to get up and search for his wife, invisible hands hold him down. A sharp burning pain in his side makes him scream and scream, but the pain in his throat never translates into sound. _

_ And then the pain melts away. “This should help, Mr. Milton.” _

_ Castiel struggles against the invisible hands. “No! Don’t!” _

_ A faceless nurse hangs a bag of clear liquid right above him. When he follows the tubing with his eyes, he sees it get wider and wider, until it’s as thick as his wrist. Jammed right into the open wound in his belly. Blood boils up around it, but he feels nothing, numbness spreading throughout his body. _

_ “Please,” he sobs. “Take it out.” _

_ The nurse leans over him, and their face is a bubbling black goop. It shapes itself into a smile. There’s no eyes, no nose. Only a smile taking up most of the space that should be a face. “Go to sleep now,” the mouth says with his own voice. “You’ll feel better if you sleep.” _

_ “No,” he mumbles, his lips and tongue barely responding as the numbness spreads over them. “Hannah?” he calls weakly. _

_ Where is she? Is she alright? Did he fail her? _

_ “Sleep, Castiel.” _

_ He whimpers, fear a fragile thread that he clings to in order to stay lucid. He wants his wife. He wants the  _ goddamn _ drugs out of his system. He wants  _ out!

His own shout of fear yanks him abruptly out of the dream. He flips onto his back, throwing away the pillow and the blanket, and sitting up. He slams his eyes shut and grips his head as pain floods through his brain. 

Breathing hard, he forces his eyes to open. The room is dark, only a sliver of light from the window illuminating the end of the bed.

A normal bed, not a hospital bed.

No machines beeping in time with his heart. No scent of harsh chemical cleaners. No nurses bustling around the room or checking his vital signs.

He lowers a hand to the scar on his stomach. No gaping wound, and no blood.

And the only numbness is from nerve damage. Not from a pill, or a needle in his arm.

It hurts to think, but the memory of where he is eventually surfaces through the waves of pain. He’s in a tiny town two thousand miles away from his problems.

Well, all of his problems except for this damn migraine.

Turning his head takes a monumental effort, because it feels like it’ll fall off if he moves too fast. And he has to squint to see the red numbers on the clock. The sun should be up in just over an hour, so at least he’s gotten some sleep. Not that it seems to have helped his head. And he certainly doesn’t feel rested after that dream.

Moving gingerly in deference to his throbbing head, he lies down again and rolls back onto his stomach. Nausea knocks at the back of his throat, but once he goes still it recedes. This migraine is shaping up to be a doozy, so he mentally prepares himself to wait it out.

Something that isn’t quite sleep drapes over his consciousness. His headache won’t allow anything more. But at least this time he doesn’t have to worry about the return of unpleasant dreams.


	6. Chapter 6

A patch of dawn light spills through the window and spreads across the floor as the sun comes up. It reflects off the pale wood, giving the room a soft golden glow. Dean rubs a hand across his tired eyes, hiding them from the brightening room. After a hard night of pacing, shaking, and jumping at every creak and groan of the old house settling, he feels like he’s just finished his first day of boot camp again.

He should go to bed, but his body isn’t cooperating with his mind’s demands for it to stand up and take this pity party to the bedroom. So he sits at the dining room table, elbows propped on the wood and his head braced in his hands. He might fall asleep right here, and fuck the consequences to his back.

The sound of a key in the lock makes his shoulders tense. But he sees a familiar shape slip in through the door and he relaxes again. “Mornin’, Sammy.”

“Hey, Dean.” Sam stops at the table and picks up the unopened bottle of whiskey and the empty glass that had been keeping Dean company all night. His footsteps thump quietly to the back of the house, and Dean hears cupboards open and close. And soon the scent of food wafts through the house.

When a plate of scrambled eggs appears in front of him, Dean blinks and looks up. Sam, already dressed in his uniform, towers over him, his expression soft with sympathy. “Eat,” he says as he settles in the chair across from Dean.

“What’re you doing here?” Dean groans as he straightens. He doesn’t know how long he’s been parked in this chair, but the way his neck protests the movement tells him it’s been a while. 

“Jo called me.” Sam gives the plate of eggs a meaningful look and smiles approvingly when Dean picks up the fork and starts poking at the eggs. “Said she saw the lights on really late, and the garage was still locked down when she showed up for work.”

“I’m surprised she didn’t try knockin’ down my door to check on me,” Dean says around his first bite of eggs. They’re fluffy and buttery and damn good. It’s the only thing Sam can cook decently.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full, you heathen.” There’s no heat in the admonishment, or an expectation for Dean to actually change his ways. “And Jo learned her lesson about barging in on you.”

The reminder of how that encounter had ended up with Jo bruised and scared ruins Dean’s enjoyment of his breakfast, and makes him wish he’d opened that damn bottle of whiskey. He swallows his mouthful of ashes, and stares down at his plate. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “I guess she did.”

“Dean, that was forever ago. Jo’s let it go, and you should too.”

Grunting in non-agrement, Dean shoves more food into his mouth. At least he gets a resigned sigh instead of an argument. But Sam’s still sitting there with his floppy hair and his puppy dog face, and Dean knows he still wants to talk about something.

“Do you feel like talking about what set you off this time?” 

Yup, there it is.

He doesn’t want to talk about it. Yeah, he knows it’s doctor’s orders, but Pam’s not around to witness him being a chicken shit about opening up. 

Dean focuses on his eggs for a few more bites, hoping Sam will give up on this subject too. But out-stubborning his brother is a crapshoot, and today it doesn’t look like Dean’s got the winning dice. 

“Dean.”

God, he hates how Sam can fit so much meaning in one word. Sighing, he leans back in his chair and looks at a space over Sam’s left shoulder. “After you and Eileen left the laundromat, one of the machine’s buzzers went off and it startled me.”

It’s such a tiny thing, but sometimes it doesn’t take much to set off his anxiety attacks. He’ll be fine for weeks, months even. Going to the Roadhouse for drinks on busy nights, or going out to the hills with Bobby to shoot at cans, or people walking into the garage when he’s not paying attention won’t bother him. And then something as simple as a dog barking unexpectedly will send him into a spiral.

At least he doesn’t have as many attacks since he moved back home to Purgatory though. Before he’d left his apartment in the city, he’d been a total wreck. The drugs Pam prescribed for him helped, but he didn’t like to take them. They shut him down too far, making him feel like he’s not even human anymore. And that scares him a helluva lot more than the panic attacks. 

For a while he’d tried self medicating with alcohol, but that hadn’t helped either. Not surprising since it never helped his dad deal with his problems. One morning he’d walked into the kitchen, and seen the sun gleaming off all those empty bottles… well he wasn’t so much of an idiot that he didn’t recognize when he’d turned onto a bad road, and with Pam’s help he’d been able to get turned back in the right direction.

Moving back to his tiny hometown, where the world isn’t as loud or busy has made enough of a difference that he could stop taking the meds. And while last night’s attack had been bad, it wasn’t anywhere near the worst he’s ever had. 

He’d gotten through it without pills, and without a drink. Even though he’d been highly tempted, he still hasn’t broken the seal on his last bottle of whiskey. The longer he goes without doing that, the better. Mental health issues and booze don’t mix well, a lesson he learned the hard way.

He’s improving. The attacks are less severe, and the time between them keeps growing. It’s a cheering thought, even when he’s bone tired after dealing with one. He isn’t going to let this PTSD shit defeat him. 

Sucks that he had an attack in front of Castiel though. It’s not exactly something he likes having witnesses for.

At least Castiel’s presence hadn’t freaked him out more though. Cas had seemed to understand what was going on, and there was no judgement or pity in his pretty blue eyes. Worry, yes, but he seemed otherwise unfazed. Everyone else treats him with kid gloves, or worse they think he’s playing it up for attention.

“A buzzer, huh?” Sam says lightly. “Terrifying.”

Dean snorts at his brother’s dry tone. It’s taken Sam a while, but he’s figured out when he needs to push and when he needs to treat Dean’s bullshit like a joke. “Fuck off,” he says as he scoops up another pile of eggs and shoves them in his mouth. Just to be extra obnoxious, he chews with his mouth open, and doesn’t swallow before he speaks. “If I can brave your cooking, I think I can get a pass on jumping at loud noises now and then.”

Sam’s disgusted expression is a treasure. “Jerk,” he mutters. 

“Bitch,” Dean counters.

The familiar exchange makes them both smile and Dean feels ten times better. Even if he wants to crawl in bed and sleep all day. 

Apparently Sam is reassured too, because he slaps his knees and stands. “Well if you’re fine, then I’m headed to work.”

Dean waves him away. “Yeah, yeah, abandon me in my time of need or whatever.” And then quieter, “Thanks, Sammy. For everything.”

Sam’s features soften, and for a moment he’s no longer a giant in a deputy uniform. He’s Dean’s little brother, taking care of him after he’s worked long hours to help with the bills after their parents passed. “Get some sleep, Dean.”

After he’s gone, Dean wolfs down the rest of his breakfast and then turns his attention to the clock. He’d promised he’d work on Benny’s truck today, but he’s still got some time. It’s tempting to just stay awake and get the work done, but he doesn’t think working with machinery is a good idea until he’s had a nap. So he cleans his breakfast dishes, and heads for his room. 

He finds Lore curled up on his pillow. She lifts her head and meows almost inaudibly when he enters the room, and doesn’t look guilty at all when he scolds her for leaving fur all over his bed. He pops an allergy pill from the stash he keeps in the bedside table, and picks her up. He flips the pillow to the less furry side, and settles down to take a nap. Her motor really gets going when he settles her on his chest.

While scratching her chin to keep her purring, he stares apprehensively at the ceiling. He really does feel better, but will his dreams get the message if he goes to sleep?

Despite those worries, Lore’s purring and the soft comfort of his memory foam mattress do their combined work, and his eyes droop closed.

The shrill guitar riff of his ringtone jerks him awake, and he curses out loud at being pulled out of an intensely pleasant dream. He clings to the tendrils of the dream, trying to recapture the feel of Castiel’s lips. The second ring makes him groan. He’d forgotten to set an alarm.

Lore jumps off the bed when he rolls toward the bedside table. He nearly knocks the phone to the floor when he fumbles to grab it, but he manages to answer it on the fourth ring. “H’lo?” he says groggily.

“You sound like hell,” Benny says cheerfully across the line.

“Thanks,” Dean grunts. Wow, okay yeah he sounds like he gargled rocks. “Sorry, I didn’t forget about you. I had a late night.”

“Sounds like it,” Benny says with a laugh. “Did you get lucky with the hot guy from the diner?”

Dean blinks, and rubs at one his eyes. His allergy pill must have worn off because he’s feeling itchy. He’ll need to change out the pillow case before he goes back to bed tonight. “Castiel? Why would you think that?”

“Little birdie told me you ran into him at the laundromat.”

Must have been Eileen, because Benny and Sam are only civil to each other for his benefit. “Little birdie needs to mind her own business.”

“Aw, don’t be like that, cher. You know we all just wanna see you happy.”

“Well you can start by not spreading rumors, dick.”

Benny’s chuckle floats from the speaker of his phone when he puts it on speaker and drops it on the bed. “Gossip ain’t always made of rumors.”

Dean grunts as he swings his legs over the edge of the bed and pushes to his feet. “Well it was this time. I wasn’t up late because of Cas.”

There’s a disappointed sigh. “Too bad. He was a handsome fella.”

A stab of possessiveness makes Dean squint at his phone. And then he immediately feels ridiculous, because Castiel doesn’t belong to him. And he’d probably left Purgatory hours ago.

“And you two seemed to get on real well.”

Dean grabs some clean clothes from the closet. “Yeah… he was a cool dude.” A little dorky sometimes, but Dean had liked that about him. “But, you know… just passing through.”

“Shame,” Benny murmurs. Then he clears his throat, and changes the subject. “So now that you’re awake…?”

“I’ll be there as soon as I’m dressed,” Dean assures him before hitting the end button on the phone screen.

After a quick shower, and a pitstop in the kitchen to grab a banana (because he does eat more than just burgers and fries, _Sam_ ), he’s out the door and pulling up to Benny’s place in less than ten minutes. They exchange greetings, and luckily Benny seems to have given up on needling Dean about Castiel. They head into the garage, and are soon elbow deep in engine parts. Benny can make his way around a toolbox, but for anything more complicated than changing the oil, he relies on Dean’s expertise.

They talk about the repairs that need to be made, and where Benny can get them at a good price so Dean can install them. Benny’s got a few of the things he needs already, and soon the clank of tools replaces conversation. Benny flips on the radio, and sings along as he passes Dean the tools he needs. 

Despite having a mild headache from not getting enough sleep, Dean feels pretty good, and starts to whistle or hum along as well. The part of his mind that isn’t taken up with what he’s doing wanders, and he smiles when he remembers the dream he’d been having during his nap.

Benny’s voice breaks through his thoughts. “You’re not lying to me about how well your night went, are you chief?” he asks with an easy grin.

Dean barely avoids hitting his head on the hood when he looks up in surprise. “What?”

Spinning a wrench between his fingers, Benny shrugs. “It’s the way you been smiling today. You have the look.”

“The look?” Dean echoes.

Benny just nods meaningfully. “ _The_ _look_.”

Dean snorts and straightens to stretch his back. “You don’t have to be such a cryptic bastard, Benny.”

“Fine then. You look like you boned down.”

Dean rolls his eyes at the crude words. “That would have been nice, but no,” he says as he knuckles the sore muscles above his hips. Working for hours bent over engines is probably going to cripple him for good some day. All that fancy surgery on his knee, and it’s going to be a slipped disk that sticks him in a wheelchair. “It was just a really hot dream that was very rudely interrupted.” He gives Benny a pointed look.

“Well, I’m sure sorry about that,” Benny says with a rueful chuckle. His smile stays in place, but his eyes grow serious. “It would be nice to see you dating. You deserve a little happiness.”

“You shouldn’t have dumped me in high school then,” Dean points out. 

“You’re not pretty enough to risk your daddy’s shotgun,” Benny counters.

They share a laugh. They’d both been scared to fool around with another guy when they were young. Dean’s dad probably would have come around to it eventually, but he wasn’t exactly open minded. And living in a small town meant they’d have to deal with a lot of small minded people besides their parents. Things are much easier now, and both he and Benny are out, but the spark between them faded to a warm friendship long ago.

“Well I appreciate that you’re thinking about me,” Dean says, completely sincere. “But you know how hard it is to find someone to date in a small town. Especially when you like men.” He pulls a rag from his pocket and tries to wipe away some of the oil on his fingers. “That’s one thing I miss about living in the city sometimes. Much easier to meet people.”

“There’s plenty of ladies in town,” Benny says. “Jo’s been holding a torch for you.”

“She’s like my sister,” Dean says. “And she knows it.”

And he does have a slight preference for men. Mostly because it seems to scare women off when he brings up the subject of pegging. Which is something he could live without if he finds the right girl, but… well he hasn’t had that kind of luck in love. And there’s little chance of it in a small town if he didn’t end up with his high school sweetheart. 

“Well we could always drive to one of the bigger towns and see if the dating scene is any better,” Benny suggests, for probably the hundredth time since Dean moved back to Purgatory. “I could be your wingman.”

Dean’s skin goes tight at the idea of leaving Purgatory, even for a few hours. He shakes his head, and he can see Benny’s disappointment before he even says anything. “Not really in the mood for something like that.”

Benny sighs and gets up to go digging through the mini fridge at the back of his garage. He uncaps a cold Coke, and offers it to Dean. And he lets the subject go, because he’s a good friend. “Damn hot today, ain’t it?”

Relieved, Dean accepts the soda and presses the cold glass against his forehead. “No kidding.” August in the desert is a bitch, and Benny’s garage only has a measly box fan to move the hot air around. He takes a long swallow from the bottle, and then gestures at the truck. “Alright, now that we’re done talking about my personal life, let’s get this bastard put back together.”

As useless as he is, Benny is in full agreement, and Dean gets back to work. But his mind keeps wandering to all the things he doesn’t like to talk about. The heat, the work, the conversation with a good friend, none of them can distract him from the thought that there are things in his life that he’s missing. Things he can’t find in Purgatory. And if things don’t get better inside his head soon, he’ll have to consider getting back on his meds and moving back to the city. 

He _really_ needs to get laid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why yes, I've written Cat Lover!Dean again. This time with mild allergies and a handy supply of antihistamines :D
> 
> Lore was named Normandy in the original story. The Normandy was the main character's space ship. I thought about naming the cat Baby after the Impala, but since he still has the car that wouldn't work. Then I was watching SPN, and they were talking about The Lore, and I was like ah yes, that's her name, thanks guys ^_^


	7. Chapter 7

Castiel opens one eye and immediately shuts it again. He’d pulled the heavy curtains closed the night before, but sunlight still found its way through the gap between the panels. It feels like a laser pointed straight into his eyes, even though the line of light crosses the foot of the bed and is nowhere near his face. A pulse of discomfort passes from the top of his skull to the base of his neck, and his fingers clench against the sheets.

He groaned, knowing that it’s getting close to check out time, and yet unable to function well enough to call down to the office and extend his stay. But the last thing he wants is to have Bobby or Rufus to come around banging on his door to kick him out while he’s incapacitated. With the threat of loud noises hanging over him, he manages to push himself up on wobbly arms. 

The movement enhances the throbbing in his brain, and he wants to flop back down and bury his head under the pillow. But that would probably be just as miserable, so he forces himself to sit up all the way. Very slowly, he makes it to a sitting position, and then he stands. The world spins around him, and he makes his way to the window mostly by feel. But once he’s there, he’s able to close the small gap between the curtains, and even that small change in lighting makes a big difference to his head.

Shuffling back to the bedside table, he picks up the receiver and pushes the button to dial the office. The shrill ring is like a drill in his ear, but luckily it only rings twice before it’s picked up.

Bobby’s voice is gruff when he answers, but it smoothes out with sympathy when Castiel explains his condition. He even lowers his voice to a more manageable volume when he speaks. “You can stay till evening, no extra charge.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Castiel protests in a croak. “I can pay.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Bobby cuts in gently. “It ain’t like we’re short on rooms, and I’m the owner, so what I say goes.”

Castiel smiles through his pain. “Well then… thank you.”

Bobby grunts, and Castiel gets the feeling he doesn’t exactly know how to accept appreciation. “You need anything else right now? I can send Rufus up with clean towels, or whatever.”

“Not right now,” Castiel says. “I just need some rest.”

“Well then you get back to it. And ring us if you change your mind.”

Castiel thanks him again, and smiles when he gets another grunt and the click of an ended call. Bobby’s not quite as grumpy as Rufus, but he’s still a gruff old fart, and Castiel likes him for it.

He hangs up the receiver, and presses his palms to his head, massaging with his finger tips. He wants to lie back down, but he’s not sure he’ll be able to get back up again. He desperately needs to pee, but the idea of walking across the small room is daunting. Being upright is making his stomach roil uncomfortably, and being in the bathroom is probably a good idea for more than one reason, but he’s not sure he can make it.

Very carefully, he turns his head and looks down at his bags near the foot of the bed. There’s a bottle of pills in there, and he knows taking one will help his headache.

Just one won’t be going back on his promise. But he doesn’t move. He doesn’t trust himself to take just one. Not when he’s in this much pain.

Sighing, he forces his feet to move, carrying him past his bags and the temptation they contain. He leaves the bathroom light off while he takes care of his needs, because just the thought of light makes his head pound harder. He splashes some water on his face, which actually makes the nausea back off some, so he grabs a washcloth, wets it, and drapes it over the back of his neck. It helps, and he sighs as some of the pain eases. 

He shuffles back to bed and sprawls out on his stomach again. As much as he’d like to sleep through the rest of his migraine, he’s too awake now. He hates this part of the recovery, when his body has slept itself out, and all he can do is endure the boredom of a dark silent room. 

When he’d still been with Hannah, she would keep him company through his migraines. She would make him tea, and massage his back. It didn’t always help the migraines, but having someone there made him feel better emotionally, if not physically. After The Incident, she’s gradually stopped doing little things like that for him. She’d made excuses about not wanting to disturb his injury at first, but after the stitches had come out and he’d been given a clean bill of health by the doctors, she’d still avoided him. Even when they shared a bed, it felt like she wasn’t even there.

Thoughts of all the times she’d pulled away from his touch before he gave up on trying anymore makes him roll his face into the sheets. Thinking about what they lost isn’t making his head feel any better, and it’s having an adverse affect on his heart, so he forces his thoughts away from Hannah. 

Freed from thoughts of home, his mind wanders instead to the bottle of pills in his bags. He turns his head again, facing away from the side of the room where they’re waiting for him. Angrily, he wonders why he even brought them.

He knows he’s not being logical. They’re for his migraines, and he has every right to use them. He’s had the prescription for years, long before he’d needed pain killers for his injury.

It’s one of the reasons his doctors hadn’t questioned him when he’d requested higher dosages and more refills. Not at first anyway. The truth is, that after a while he’d bounced around between several doctors for a while in order to get his fix. He’d investigated drug dealers for years, but it’s laughable to him that anyone would turn to illegal drugs when the legal ones are so easy to obtain. Some of the dealers he’d put behind bars were on the wrong side of the business.

A fresh wave of pain makes him groan, which he instantly regrets when it makes things worse. If only he could go back to sleep. Escape the pain, and escape the boredom. A couple pills would be all it takes to knock him out…

“No,” he croaks. He won’t take them. This isn’t the first migraine he’s weathered without taking anything, and if he has his way, it won’t be the last. He’ll survive. He’s been doing it since he was a teen. And he doesn’t need drugs to get through this. 

But oh, how he wants them.

Castiel ignores the craving for a few more hours. He occasionally gets up to wet the washcloth again, but he spends most of the slowly ticking minutes in bed. The pain slowly begins to ease, and he’s able to think of things besides the bottle of pills in his bags, or the throbbing pain in his head. And his thoughts turn inevitably toward Purgatory and the people he’s met here. Especially the green eyed Adonis he’d spent several hours with the day before.

What is it about Dean that tangles up his attention so thoroughly? He’s good looking, no question, but Castiel’s met plenty of stunning individuals in his travels. But he’d barely been able to look away from Dean from the moment he sat down across from Castiel and introduced himself. 

His eyes are beautiful, and his grin contagious. His laugh was deep and masculine, but full of boyish charm. And there’s a coiled power hidden under his handsome exterior that makes Castiel’s body tense for fight or flight… or fucking. He doesn’t believe in love at first sight, but lust is a whole other matter.

He wants Dean. Badly. What would it feel like to have all that power under him? Around him? He’s usually topped in his encounters with men, but there’s a part of him that craves having Dean bend him over the nearest surface.

It’s tempting to see how Dean would feel about spending a few hours with him here in this motel room before he leaves town.

But Castiel doesn’t take sex lightly. He’s had his share of one night stands, and they’ve always left him feeling hollow. While physically pleasurable, he prefers a deeper connection with his lovers. Friendship, at the very least. 

He discards the idea of tracking Dean down and propositioning him. He likes Dean a lot, and would love to get to know him better. To become his friend, or more. But he’s not here to stay, and he doesn’t have time for more than a one night stand. 

When he sighs wistfully over the thought it occurs to him that his head is no longer fogged with pain. Somewhere during his musings his headache has receded. His head still hurts, but his heartbeat no longer thuds behind his eyes. Experimentally, he opens them and is pleased to find that he can look around without aggravating anything. Lifting his head doesn’t send the world spinning, and he can read the clock without squinting.

It’s late afternoon, but still a few hours until his extended checkout time.

Slowly he rises from the bed. His muscles are sore, and he’s tired--fighting off a migraine always takes a lot out of him--but he’s no longer interested in lying in bed. And he’s starving since he hasn’t eaten for around twenty-four hours.

The walk to the bathroom is much easier when he doesn’t feel like his head is going to topple from his shoulders, and flipping on the lights doesn’t send piercing pain through the center of his brain. He sighs in relief. Typically once the sensitivity to light has passed, the migraine is over and what pain still lingers will quickly fade away.

He brushes his teeth and runs a damp comb through his hair, grumbling to himself at how unruly it gets when he goes to bed with it still wet and that he needs to get it cut soon. Once it’s in some semblance of order, he dresses and grabs his things. He doesn’t rush, and it’s early evening by the time he leaves his room and walks to the office.

Rufus is manning the desk, but when Castiel comes in, he puts down his magazine and stands to assist him. He gives Castiel a wary look. “Well you don’t look like you’re dying anymore.”

Castiel chuckles. He’s not surprised Rufus knows. He’s been through enough small towns now that he understands just how short the grapevine is. “I’m pretty sure I’ll live this time,” he says. “It was just a headache.”

Snorting, Rufus starts poking at the computer to pull up his file. “Sometimes ‘just a headache’ ain’t nothing to sneeze at.”

The thought of sneezing during a migraine makes Castiel wrinkle his nose. “I won’t argue that.”

Rufus huffs what might be a laugh, and finishes checking him out. He gives Castiel a little salute as he exits the office. Castiel wishes Bobby were around so he could thank him for his kindness, but he doesn’t wait around to see him. Staying in any place for too long makes him antsy, and he wants to get on the road soon. It’s not very safe to drive in the dark, but if he doesn’t get out of here now, he’ll end up spending another night. He’d rather get started on the journey to the next town, and he’ll just have to be careful on the dark streets.

Outside he’s pleased when a truck rumbling by doesn’t aggravate what’s left of his headache. His stomach echoes it, loud enough that Castiel would be embarrassed if he had a witness. He definitely can’t wait until he gets to the next town to eat something. He puts his helmet on and swings a leg over his bike, idly wondering if there’s a fast food joint around here. But he dismisses the thought, and turns his bike toward the diner. He already knows he likes the food, and knows right where it’s located.

And maybe, just maybe, he’ll see a set of pretty green eyes. He’d love to say a proper goodbye.

When he pulls up to the diner, it’s parking lot is packed, and he can see crowded tables through the windows. He hesitates, not sure if he wants to expose his still tender head to the noise of a crowd, but decides against leaving. He can endure it long enough for a good meal.

Ellen clocks him as soon as the bell over the door jingles above his head. She brightens and waves him to an empty stool at the counter. “Hey there,” she greets as he takes a seat. Her eyes flicker over his features, and her lips purse. “You look like hell.”

He laughs, and rubs his temple. “I had a rough day. Spent most of it in bed.”

Now she looks downright worried. “Are you sick? We have a doctor here, if you need one.”

He waves away the offer, smiling gratefully. “Thank you, but it was just a migraine. I’m feeling much better now.” The smell of frying food makes his stomach grumble loudly again. “And I haven’t eaten since yesterday, so I’m starving.”

Ellen smacks the counter gently. “Well let’s get you some food then!”

She takes his order, and then moves around the diner serving the other patrons. He can feel their curious gazes on his back, but it doesn’t last long. He may be a stranger, but tourists aren’t completely out of the norm and he’s no longer interesting after a few minutes. 

When his meal is ready, Ellen brings it to him. There must be a lull in her work, because she leans her arms on the counter and gives him a speculative look. “So you’re leaving town after you eat?” she asks.

“I hadn’t intended to stay this long,” he says, as he stares down at the pile of food on his plate and tries to decide where to start. He’d ordered a burger and fries again, so it should be an easy decision, but they’re both _so good._

Ellen hums, and she looks disappointed. “That’s a shame. It’s nice having a new face around.”

“I’ve been told you get tourists for camping and rock climbing.” He goes for one of the thick, crispy steak fries. It’s an excellent choice.

One of her shoulders lifts in a shrug. “Sure, some. But I kinda thought you’d want to stick around for a while.”

“Do you make a habit of inviting strangers to stay?” he asks while picking up several fries and dipping them in the aioli sauce. He pauses and pins her with a look. “You’re not hitting on me are you?”

She snorts a laugh and reaches across the corner to slap his shoulder. The easy camaraderie in the gesture warms him. “You’re handsome, but I’m old enough to be your mom.” She props her chin on her hands and gives him a thoughtful look. “I just thought you might be interested in sticking around because you seemed to make a connection yesterday.”

He sets his fries down, despite his gnawing hunger. “You mean Dean?”

She grins slyly. “Sure do, honey.”

“So you’re trying to play matchmaker.”

She lifts one eyebrow. “Are you interested?”

He laughs and eats a fry, chewing thoroughly and swallowing before he deigns to answer. “You can’t tell me he doesn’t turn heads wherever he goes. Or are you all blind to how good looking he is because you see him every day?”

“Trust me,” Ellen says in a serious tone, even as her eyes twinkle with mischief, “We _all_ know.” She sobers a little, sighing and straightening behind the counter. “But that boy doesn’t really click with anyone ‘round here. Not like he did with you. Folks here either see him as some kind of big damn hero, or they’re intimidated by him. Even people who knew him before he moved away don’t see him for who he is since he came back home.”

Castiel frowns. Dean had been very sweet and charming yesterday. He can’t imagine why people wouldn’t want to get to know the Dean he’d met. But a few hours isn’t really enough time to really know a person well either. “I’m sensing a story there,” he says.

Someone calls Ellen’s name from the other end of the diner. She raps her knuckles on the counter in front of him. “Stick around and find out for yourself,” she says. “Anyway, I’ll leave you to your dinner. Hurry and eat before it gets cold and you ruin all of Benny’s hard work.”

She leaves Castiel to his thoughts, most of which are about a man with a boyish smile and spring green eyes.

He eats slowly, savoring the meal while considering her words. He’s interested in Dean, and the idea of staying for a little while is tempting. But what else is there in Purgatory to keep him? He has a life in Boston. One that he’s been avoiding for too long, but it’s still there waiting for him, even if he’s not in a hurry to return.

The thought of traveling home to face the people he’d left behind nearly ruins his appetite. He has a lot of apologizing to do, and while he’s more than willing to do so, he’s afraid he’s already irrevocably ruined their trust in him.

He just needs a little more time.

But staying in one place for too long isn’t a good idea either. Not if he wants to keep outrunning his addiction. He’s afraid if he stops for even a few days, that the low murmur of cravings will increase back to a roar in his ears. And it’ll bring along all the anxiety that had driven him to start popping pills in the first place.

And what if he becomes attached to Dean? To the kind people of Purgatory? What if he builds up relationships with these people, only to destroy them with bad decisions spurred by a weak will? Everyone he’s met here has been so friendly and open with him. He hates the idea of turning them against him.

By the time he’s finished his meal, he’s made his decision, even if he already regrets it. He tosses a few bills down next to his empty plat, more than enough to cover the tab and leave a generous tip, and heads outside to his bike. His eyes are drawn to the garage across the street. Something pulls at him, urging him to walk over and see if Dean is there so he can talk to him. So he can say goodbye.

If the place didn’t look like it was closed, he’d probably do it. Even if it’s a mistake. 

But leaving without a word could be a mistake too.

His lips twist in a wry smile as he pulls on his helmet. He’s probably a coward for riding away, but he’s stayed long enough. It’s time to go.

Castiel stays slightly under the speed limit as he drives through Purgatory. A decision he’s glad for when he passes a cruiser parked down one of the side streets. Plus, the slower speed gives him one last chance to look around and take in the view. The place is pretty despite being nestled in the middle of a desert. There are mountains rising off in the distance, and scrub growing in the red dirt. It catches the sunset with a beautiful scarlet glow.

His mind tends to wander while he’s on his bike, and now it travels to the people he’s leaving behind again. More specifically, Dean. He wonders what Dean would look like in the red and gold light of the setting sun. He dwells on the memory of Dean’s charming smile. Toothy and a little crooked, underlined by a thin scar on his chin that Castiel noticed one of the times he caught himself staring at Dean’s lips. He thinks of the way Dean threw his head back when he laughed, and how his green eyes sparkled with mischief when he’d stolen a fry from Castiel’s plate.

As his mind takes a short trip down memory lane, the houses thin out around him. Soon he’s on the open road with nothing but dirt and scrub brush and weathered fence posts in either direction. The two lane road curves back and forth, but leads steadily westward. His bike’s engine growls loudly as he increases his speed, no longer restricted by the low limits in town, but still careful not to speed in case he comes across another hidden cruiser.

Instead of the comfortable half-empty headspace he usually falls into once he’s on a flat stretch of road, his mind revs up. A list of excuses to turn around and go back scrolls through his mind. He should have gotten a meal to go. His gas tank could probably use a top off. Maybe he should stay another night and get an early start instead of driving into the growing dark, without knowing where he can make his next stop to get some sleep.

He already misses the people he’d met. Dean, yes. But Eileen and Sam, Ellen, Bobby, Rufus and Jo as well. He’s lived his whole life in cities where people don’t talk to each other. They keep their eyes averted, and give people their privacy in public places, because they’re all so crowded together that they do what they can to not encroach on each other’s space too much. This road trip back and forth across the country has introduced him to a whole other way of life. Small-towners want to talk. They want to get to know you. He’s met folks all over, and had small meaningless conversations with them. But there’s something about the people of Purgatory that’s different. It didn’t feel like the same curiosity of strangers. It was like they were trying to bring him into their circle. To make him one of them.

It was… nice.

His thoughts come to a screeching halt when his bike’s engine sputters, shaking the whole frame. He lets off the gas and begins to slow down, but before he’s safe to stop there’s a loud crack, and then a grinding sound. The back wheel locks up, and the bike swerves until his center of gravity shifts past the point of no return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So far I've been following the chapter structure of the original fic, but I've given up on doing that because I haaaate it. Being able to post faster is nice, but I keep thinking why did I end this HERE?? I interrupted a scene! It's no good, bleh! 
> 
> (The reason was that I was rushing to write it for a mini bang with an 8k minimum, with 6 weeks to write it, and I had to drop out because I was at 70k by the deadline with the end still far distant, and I used NanoWrimo to finish it. This was before I learned that I'm just LikeThat, and that writing shortfic is not my forte.) 
> 
> So updates are going to slow down as I rewrite this into longer chapters.
> 
> Bonus for me: Better cliffhangers.
> 
> Sorry not sorry XD


	8. Chapter 8

Pain blossoms in Castiel’s still tender head as it cracks against the pavement, and lances through his side as it slides across asphalt. The weight of the bike feels like it’s crushing his leg, and it drags him along until his foot catches on something that holds him still long enough for the bike to slide off him. Sparks shower him in its wake, and he throws up an arm to protect his face, even though his helmet has a full mask.

The accident probably only spans a few seconds, but it feels like several long minutes before he’s able to flop to his back and stare up at the sky while he wills his heartbeat to slow down. His helmet did it’s job and protected his head, even though getting jostled so hard has brought his headache back with a screaming vengeance. The pain in his side has already disappeared, leaving a worrying numbness.

Gritting his teeth against new flares of pain, Castiel takes stock of his condition while taking slow even breaths. He wiggles his fingers, and then his toes. That last movement makes the numbness in his side disappear, and he groans. He didn’t think he’d hit the ground hard enough to break anything, but it’s still a relief to have both sensation and movement. Even if the side of his body that hit the ground first feels like it’s on fire. 

Very carefully he rolls onto his back. He isn’t ready to move any more just yet, but he gathers his strength and sits up and makes his way to the edge of the road. There aren’t any cars as far as he can see in either direction, but he doesn’t want to end up as roadkill if someone does eventually come by.

There’s a ditch by the road, and he sits on the edge and takes his helmet off. He bends down and probes gently at his ankle, trying to determine what kind of damage it may have taken. It’s able to twist and turn, and he doesn’t feel any swelling. Nothing broken, and hopefully not sprained.

The leg above it is another matter. His jeans had mostly protected him, but they still ripped open enough to expose his lower leg to the asphalt, and it’s scraped up pretty bad and oozing beads of ruby red. His side also burns; his jacket must have ridden up slightly during the slide across the ground.

“Well,” he mutters into the growing darkness. “That could have been worse.”

He can deal with scrapes and bruises. Thank god he hadn’t opened the throttle and flown past the speed limit like he normally does. 

The real test though is standing. He groans again as his body sends up warning signals all over, but he breathes through it. His ankle protests his weight, but he’s definitely had worse. He’s probably still running on adrenaline though, and he’s not looking forward to how much suffering he’s in for once it wears off.

A glance around is enough to find his bike in the bottom of the ditch, not too far away. Limping gingerly, he makes his way over to it, cursing as each step causes the ache in his ankle and hip to intensify. It takes more effort than he’d like to get the bike back up on its wheels. It’s heavy, but he’s strong and he’s never had problems lifting it before. Then again, he’s injured which is a good excuse.

It’s a mild struggle to get the bike and himself out of the ditch and back on the road. Not that it does him any good. When he investigates a quiet rattle near the ground he finds its chain is broken and dragging behind it.

“Fuck,” he hisses. Broken, and broken down. In the middle of nowhere. “Fuck!”

Since the road is still empty, he has no choice but to turn the bike and start walking back to Purgatory. At least he can put most of his weight on it and not on his injured leg. That’s a small consolation though, because walking is not getting any easier. The damage to his ankle is being aggravated by the walk.

The temptation to get his pain pills out of his saddle bags rears its ugly head again, but he ignores it. He’s not going to give in. Not yet.

He gives up on limping along, and straddles the bike. Pushing it forward with his feet is still slow going, but it’s a great relief to take the weight off his leg. At this rate, it may be the middle of the night before he gets back to town, but at least this way he believes he’ll make it. 

He isn’t sure how long he travels before he notices headlights in the distance. Hoping for the best, he gets off the bike, so it doesn’t look like he’s just pulled over for some reason, and he waves a hand at the driver when they get close enough. 

To his relief, the truck slows down almost immediately and stops just past him on the road. The man who jumps out of its cab is familiar, even though Castiel hadn’t been formally introduced to him at the diner. But his blond mullet and sleeveless flannel are unmistakable. Castiel starts rolling his bike toward the truck, and meets the man near the back.

“I’d ask if you’re alright,” he says as he takes stock of Castiel’s condition, “but it’s pretty obvious that you’re having a shitty day.”

Castiel chuckles weakly. “That’s an accurate description.”

“Well shit man, let’s get you off this road and see if we can make it better.” He eyes the bike and pats the side of his truck. “Think you can help me get that thing up here?” 

Castiel isn’t sure, but he certainly doesn’t want to leave it behind. “I guess we’ll see.”

It takes the last of his endurance, but between the two of them they manage to muscle the bike into the truck. Once it’s strapped down, and they get in the truck’s cab, Castiel lets out a long sigh when he’s able to relax and take the weight off his leg. His hip still hurts, and his scraped skin still burns, but his headache has receded again, and his ankle is no longer protesting so loudly.

“You may need a doctor,” his rescuer says once he’s settled behind the wheel. “Road rash ain’t nothin’ to sneeze at.”

He’s probably right, but Castiel doesn’t think there’s a hospital nearby. And even if there was, he’s not sure he’s got the power to say no to a medical professional offering him painkillers. “I’d prefer to take my chances and just get back to town for now.”

His companion shrugs and flips his hair back over his shoulder. “Up to you, man.”

“Thank you for your help,” Castiel says. “I’m Castiel.”

“Ash,” the man says with a lazy grin that Castiel is certain comes from the faded scent of weed in the cab. “But you everyone calls me Doctor Badass.”

Castiel raises a brow. “Do they?”

“They better!” Ash exclaims cheerfully as he starts the truck’s engine. “So where to, Castiel?”

“Is the next town far?”

“Yeah it’s a bit of a road trip,” Ash says. “The mechanic there’s shit though. You want your bike handled right, we should take it back to Purgatory.”

Castiel isn’t superstitious, but he’s beginning to wonder if some cosmic entity is conspiring to keep him from leaving Purgatory. But if it means he’ll get to see Dean again, he’ll be thankful to whoever’s pulling the strings of fate.

“You don’t mind going back that direction?” 

Ash waves a hand in dismissal. “I was just out for a drive, dude. Gettin’ out of my head, ya know?”

Castiel sniffs at the skunky air of the cabin, and smirks. “Yeah I get it.”

Leveling a finger at Castiel, Ash says “It’s medicinal.”

Laughing, Castiel shakes his head and settles more comfortably in the seat. “I’m not judging,” he says. “Especially if you’ll be kind enough to take me back to Purgatory.”

“You got it, my man!” Ash grins at him, revs the engine, and then proceeds to turn the truck so quickly and tightly on the narrow road that Castiel grabs the oh shit handle above his head in preparation for it to tip over.

Luckily the truck keeps all four tires on the ground, and they spend the rest of the drive in comfortable silence. Castiel watches the last of the color fade from the sky, and it turns from blue to black as they enter the town proper. 

“We don’t have a hospital, but we’ve got a doctor,” Ash says. “I know you said you didn’t need it, but--”

“I don’t,” Castiel says quickly. When Ash raises a questioning brow over his curt words, he clears his throat. “I just think a few days off my feet will be enough. I’m more worried about my bike, to be honest.”

Ash nods his understanding. “To the garage then. Dean-o will be glad to help.”

He hadn’t expected to stop at Dean’s right now, but it makes sense. If Ash drops him off to the motel, he’ll have to either ask him the extra favor of helping him get his bike to the shop the next morning, or call for a tow if that’s even an available service around here. His heartbeat kicks up at the idea of seeing Dean again so soon.

The garage is still lit up, the doors wide open even though there aren’t any vehicles in the two bays. Just inside, Dean is lounging in a plastic lawn chair drinking out of a dark glass bottle. Jo is in another seat next to him, one leg thrown over the arm of her chair and gesturing widely with her own drink to emphasise whatever she’s talking about.

When he sees the truck pull up, Dean gets up from his chair and tucks his free hand in his pocket. “Hey Ash!” he calls over the last rumbles of the engine. “What brings you-” his eyes land on Castiel in the passenger seat and widen. “Cas?”

Getting out of the truck is a monumental effort, but Castiel manages it without much more than a wince. “Hello, Dean,” he says. “Would you be able to take a look at my bike?”

Dean takes in his condition, and his expression turns worried. He sets his drink down on the ground next to his chair and comes closer. “Yeah, of course man… but are you okay?”

He reaches out and his fingers brush lightly against Castiel’s shoulder. 

“Dude probably needs a doctor,” Ash says as he rounds the back of his truck and lowers the tailgate.

“I’m fine,” Castiel says, plastering on a reassuring smile.

Dean’s eyes flick down over his body, and even under the circumstances his gaze warms Castiel’s blood. Which means he’s probably in much better condition than he looks like.

“You sure?” Dean says quietly.

Castiel nods, and to his relief Dean doesn’t push any further. He gently squeezes Castiel’s shoulder, and turns his attention to where Ash and Jo are already working together to get the bike out of the truck. “Then let’s see what the damage is.”

It might just be Castiel’s imagination that Dean’s hand lingers on his shoulder before he finally walks to the back of the truck. 

“Grab a plank, you idiots,” Dean calls. “You’re gonna drop it on yourselves and then I’m gonna be stuck driving everyone to the E.R.” He winks at Castiel before hopping up into the back of the truck to help.

Jo fetches something to use as a ramp, and Dean and Ash are able to get the bike down without any further injuries and a lot less effort than it had taken to get it up in the truck in the first place. Jo turns her head this way and that, whistling low as she gets a look at the damage. “I dunno, Dean. This may be beyond your abilities.”

“Have a little faith, kiddo,” Dean protests, even as he frowns at the bike himself. 

“You’re the one who’ll need your faith if you keep calling me ‘kiddo’,” Jo grumbles.

Dean smirks, but concentrates on the bike. He tinkers and pokes at it for a moment before he stands up and turns his attention to Castiel. “Well the broken chain’s obvious, but she’s pretty beat up and there might be more wrong. I can take a closer look in the morning.”

Surprisingly, Castiel doesn’t feel the itch under his skin to flee town. In fact, he’d almost say he feels… relieved. But that could just be a reaction to Dean’s apparent assurance in his ability to fix the bike. “Looks like I’ll be staying here until it’s fixed,” he says, without any sense of disappointment. He turns to Ash. “May I have a ride to the motel?”

“You can stay here.”

Castiel isn’t the only one to turn a look of surprise on Dean after that statement. “I’ve got a pull out couch, and it’s probably more comfortable than the motel beds. It’s got a memory foam mattress.” Dean clears his throat, and even in the dark it’s obvious that he’s blushing. 

“That… would be great,” Castiel says. The motel bed last night hadn’t been the worst he’s slept in, but it was a little harder than he preferred, and his whole body winced at the idea of laying on it again. 

But the real reason he’s accepting him is standing in front of him, blushing, smiling, and turning Castiel inside out.

It feels good.

It’s also terrifying.

“Oh Jesus, is this going to be like a slumber party?” Jo teases, slugging Dean lightly in the arm. “You gonna break out the nail polish and chick flicks?”

“Dude, that sounds like a blast!” Ash exclaims. “We can braid each other’s hair and sing Sandra Dee songs!”

Dean glares at them both. “You two ain’t invited.”

They both make exaggerated awwwws of disappointment, and Dean rolls his eyes. But they sparkle with humor when he turns his back on them and faces Castiel directly. “Ignore these two chuckleheads. They think they’re funny.”

“I’m partial to blue polish,” Castiel responds in his best deadpan. “Especially on my toes.”

All three of them crack up, Jo and Ash leaning on each other and Dean throwing his head back and clapping his hands gleefully. Castiel holds his serious expression for all of three seconds before he breaks, and joins them. Laughing feels good, even if his abused body protests the jostling. 

Jo is the first to regain control. “Oh man,” she gasps. “I like this guy.”

“Yeah, me too,” Dean says, clapping Castiel on the shoulder.

Castiel hisses at the contact.

“Oh shit, sorry!” Dean pulls his hand back immediately. “I forgot you took a spill. Let’s get you inside and settled so you can rest.”

Ash and Jo take over getting the bike into the garage bay, and Jo promises she’ll lock up for the night. Dean gestures Castiel to follow him, leading him to a path around the side of the garage. Castiel is tired and sore, and can’t hide his limp, but as he follows Dean along the rocky path in the dark, he thinks there might be just a little bounce in his step too.

* * *

Pausing under the porch light, Dean turns to watch Castiel make his way carefully up the two steps to the wide deck that fronts his house. The poor guy looks like hell. His hair is wild and sweaty, and in the golden light of the cheap bulb Dean can see dirt smeared across one side of his face. He’s holding himself gingerly, favoring the leg with the ripped denim below his knee. 

Dean thinks Castiel probably should be on his way to see a medical professional, but he doesn’t bother trying to argue the point. He recognizes the stubborn set of the man’s jaw, dark with more than a five o’clock shadow. And he can always call the Doc later if he needs to. He’ll keep an eye on Castiel in the meantime. “You look like you could use a drink.”

Castiel chuckles. “I think I could use two,” he says wryly.

Dean snorts, and pushes the door open and leads the way inside. He keeps an eye out for Lore to make sure she doesn’t go running for freedom, but she’s nowhere in sight. Castiel pauses just inside, and looks around curiously. Dean wonders what he sees. Does this look like a shack to him, or is it luxury? He wants to ask, but he’s wary of being too nosy. Their conversations so far had been easy and fun, but they’d both avoided heavier topics because they both knew their acquaintance would be temporary.

It’s hard to get to know someone over a single meal, even if they had spent hours monopolizing one of Ellen’s booths. And what would be the point of trying? Castiel is a drifter, passing through like any of the tourists who stumble onto Purgatory, never to look back. As much as he wants to see if there’s more than just the spark he feels between them, it’s not worth pursuing someone who’ll be gone in the blink of an eye.

He doesn’t even know if Castiel is into men. Jo’s introduction hadn’t scared him off, but he could just be open minded, not necessarily interested.

And there he goes again, speculating about a man who won’t be around very long. Shaking his head at himself, Dean beckons Castiel further into the house, and shows him where everything is.

They’re in his main living area which is a large space split between the living room and dining room, and a narrow hallway leads toward the back of the house. “The kitchen is back there,” he says, gesturing down the hall. “That door on the left side of the hall is the bathroom. There’s a second room at the back of the house, just off the kitchen, but right now it’s full of a bunch of dusty boxes and books and shit Sam left behind when he moved out.” He points out a door on the right side of the hall. “That’s my room.”

Castiel’s eyes flit around, taking in everything. “You have a lovely house.”

Dean tucks both hands in his back pockets and shrugs. “It’s not much, but it’s home.”

“That’s plenty.” The smile Castiel gives him is sweet, and a little bit crooked, and it’s tying Dean in knots. 

Dean’s sure his own smile is dopey as fuck, but he can’t help it. There’s something about the way that Castiel’s eyes crinkle at the corners, and the way his teeth play at his bottom lip that pulls a similar reaction from Dean. 

“Do you have a first aid kit?” Castiel asks, conceding from their accidental staring match.

“Yeah, I--” Dean cuts off when Castiel removes his jacket and reveals a white tshirt stained with blood along his side. “Jesus, Cas.”

Frowning, Castiel looks down and lifts his shirt away, twisting so he can get a look at the damage. There’s several inches of skin that are scraped raw, although at least it looks like the bleeding has stopped. 

Dean really wishes he’d consider seeing a doctor, but Castiel has shot that idea down more than once, and Dean is going to trust him to know if he really needs it. “Have a seat,” he says, tipping his head toward the dining table. “I’ll go get it.”

Blatant relief colors his features Castiel’s features when he settles down in a chair, and he heaves a sigh. He glances up at Dean, who’s stuck to the floor trying to decide if he should call the Doc or not. “First aid kit?”

Dean startles at the gentle reminder. “Right, sorry.”

He hurries down the hall to the kitchen. A curtained doorway leads to a covered porch that he’d long ago converted into a laundry room. As he digs through the cupboard above the dryer, his phone vibrates in his pocket. Since hardly anyone ever messages him when they could just stop by and pester him, he stops his search and checks his phone.

Jo >> _hey, don’t get in too deep with this guy._

Jo >> _unless you wanna top, then by all means_

Dean rolls his eyes and taps out a response. _Is this relationship advice, or an attempt at sex tips?_

He sets the phone on the dryer while he goes back to his search for the first aid kit. His phone buzzes again just as he finds it.

Jo >> _I see how you look at him and as much as I’d like to see you get laid it would piss me off if the guy hurts you_

Dean smiles down at the screen and types out a response one handed. _I promise I’ll be careful_

Jo >> _good! now go get some hot dicking!_

“Dork,” he mutters.

When he returns to the main room, he grins at what he finds. Castiel is leaning back in the chair, pinned down by a tiny calico cat in his lap with her paws up on his chest. “Ah, I see you’ve met Lore,” he says as he sets the kit on the table.

“I think she’s decided we’re best friends,” Castiel mutters against the top of her head when she rubs it against his face.

“She likes beard stubble,” Dean says as he opens the kit and starts taking out the supplies he’ll need. “Real inconvenient if you’re allergic, so I hope you’re not.”

Castiel runs first one hand, then the other down Lore’s back, making her purring amp up. “Not at all.”

“Lucky you. I have to take allergy pills, or I end up with itchy eyes all day.” He chuckles when Lore insistently pushes her face up under Castiel’s chin. “You might have someone sleeping with you tonight.”

Wide blue eyes swing toward him in surprise, and Dean grins. Let Castiel take that however he wants. Jo warned him to be careful, but as far as he’s concerned, if his cat likes the guy then Dean’s willing to see where things go. Always trust the pets, that’s his motto.

“The cat,” Dean clarifies. “She’s a cuddler.”

“Oh,” Castiel replies faintly. “Right.”

Is that a hint of disappointment? Dean ducks his head to hide his own expression. Nudging Castiel’s elbow out of the way, Dean lifts his shirt and begins dabbing at the lacerations. Castiel hisses, and Dean winces in sympathy. “Sorry. It’ll sting.”

“No kidding.”

Dean chuckles at the dry tone, but he lets himself become absorbed in his task. The scrapes had definitely stopped bleeding, but he does his best to clean everything thoroughly which makes blood well up again. There doesn’t appear to be any pebbles embedded in the skin, which is good. He’d insist on calling the Doc at that point. 

Once the scrapes are clean, he presses some gauze over it, but doesn’t tape it down. He allows the dampness of Castiel’s blood to hold it in place while he turns attention to Castiel’s leg.

“Your jeans are ruined,” he says, cool and methodical. He hopes Castiel doesn’t notice anything is off. His hands are already beginning to shake from the effort of trying not to think about the last time he’d tended someone’s wounds. Maybe he should have asked Jo to stick around and help with this.

But then he wouldn’t have a chance to feel Castiel’s skin under his fingers. 

“I’m gonna need to tear these a little more to get a better look.” He bites his inner cheek against suggesting that he just take them off altogether.

Castiel grunts. “Damn, I only have one other pair. I’ll have to find a store.”

Taking the comment as permission, Dean grips the denim and pulls, extending the rip all the way to Castiel’s knee. He freezes at the sight underneath.

_Blood everywhere, bone sticking out at an unnatural angle. His ears ring from the explosion so he can’t hear the screams…_

He blinks and the image is gone. His hands are not black with caked dirt and blood. It’s just the oil he can never quite scrub out of the creases in his knuckles, and the leg under his fingers is only bloody, not broken.

“Are you alright?” Castiel asks. “You don’t have to do this. I can--”

“I’ve got it,” Dean says sharply. He smiles to soften his words. “It just looks pretty bad. You sure you don’t want to see a doctor?”

“I’m sure. It looks worse than it feels.”

Dean holds his hands up in concession, and gets to work cleaning away blood. The skin is torn up, but Castiel is right that it’s not too bad. Again, he doesn’t find any pebbles under his skin, just a nasty scrape under the blood and dirt. His jeans did a good job of protecting him from the worst of it. 

“Speaking of clothes,” Castiel says after a few minutes, “do you have something I could sleep in?”

Looking up, Dean finds Castiel blushing. “You don’t have any?”

“Not a lot of room in my saddlebags,” Castiel explains. “I usually sleep naked.”

 _Very_ interesting. Dean keeps that thought to himself though. “We’re not quite the same size, but I’ve got a pair of shorts and a tshirt you can borrow for the night.”

“Thank you, Dean.”

Castiel’s voice slides over him like a warm hand, and Dean wants to arch into him the same way Lore is doing right now. 

They fall back into silence while Dean concentrates on what he’s doing. Brief flashes of other times he’s performed this kind of service make his shoulders tense, but he manages to keep his breathing even. Soon the crusted blood is washed away, and he’s dabbing disinfectant on the broken skin.

Lore is purring loudly, and when Dean looks up her mismatched eyes, one green and one copper, are closed in pleasure. She’s curled on Castiel’s lap, and he’s still stroking her fur in long sweeps from head to tail. He raises his head more and sees that Castiel’s eyes are closed as well, although probably not for the same reason. Dean takes a moment to just look, tracing the lines of Castiel’s face with his gaze. He wonders what Castiel’s dark stubble would feel like if he reached up right now…

In an attempt to curb those thoughts, he drops his eyes back to Lore who is looking back at him. Somehow the purr that’s too big for her tiny body and the angle of her ears and whiskers makes her seem smug. “Lucky cat,” he whispers.

That gets Castiel’s attention, and he glances down at Dean. His eyes are drooped low, and his lips are turned up in a sultry smile.

 _Sultry?_ Where the hell does a word like that come from? He wasn’t even aware it was stored somewhere in his brain.

“Thanks,” Castiel murmurs.

Dean blinks, wondering if Castiel somehow heard what he was thinking. Then he realizes Castiel is talking about the first aid. “Oh, uh… no problem.” He sends up a silent prayer of thanks that only his cat is here to witness him acting like an idiot around a hot guy. She’s judgy, but he cleans her litter box, so they’re on even footing here. “I didn’t tape down the bandages. I thought you might want a shower first.”

“Yeah,” Castiel says, still in that rough murmur. “I would definitely like that.”

Dean pushes to his feet, barely noticing when his knee twinges in protest, because all he can see is blue eyes twinkling up at him with a teasing light. “Alright, hang tight and I’ll get you some clothes and towels.”

He’s not running away. It’s a strategic retreat.


	9. Chapter 9

Castiel’s eyes are drawn to the oil rag hanging from Dean’s back pocket as he walks away. And how the denim hugs Dean’s ass. When he disappears into his room, Castiel drops his eyes to the calico cat purring in his lap. “I’m in trouble,” he says softly.

Lore blinks at him. She starts kneading against his thigh, the tips of her untrimmed claws pricking his skin. When he rubs her ears, the volume of her purring kicks up a notch. He hadn’t imagined Dean as a cat lover. Maybe it’s the sleeveless t-shirt and ripped, greasy jeans, but he seems more like the type to have a large dog following him around. 

He knows it’s a stereotype that men don’t like cats, but he still can’t help but think Dean’s preference for feline companionship makes him seem softer and more approachable. Especially if he has to take allergy pills just to have Lore around.

“These might be a little short on you,” Dean says when he comes out of his room holding a bundle of cloth. His eyes drop to Castiel’s thighs. “You’re, uh…”

Castiel grins when Dean trails off, a flush obscurin his freckles. He cuddles Lore to his chest with one arm as he stands. Pain stabs through his injured leg, and pulses in his head. He keeps his eyes on the cat for a moment until he’s sure the pain won’t show in his expression. When he looks up, he finds Dean standing close, one hand hovering close in case he needs help staying upright, so he must not have done a very good job hiding his reaction.

Standing this close to Dean, he realizes that he has to look up a few inches to meet Dean’s worried gaze. He turns to humor to distract Dean from his condition. “It’s not the Victorian age,” he teases. “I’m not going to shock anyone if I show off my knees.”

His reward for the terrible joke is a slow smile. “My reaction wouldn’t be _shock_ ,” Dean says in a low voice that makes Castiel forget all his aches and pains.

Unable to help himself, Castiel laughs. “Is that a flirtation?”

Dean snorts a little, and his eyes twinkle. “Might be.” And the teasing worked because he’s no longer looking at Castiel like he’s worried he’ll fall over. “Here, trade me,” Dean says gruffly as he lifts Lore out of Castiel’s arms, and hands over the bundle of clothes. “There’s clean towels on the shelf in the bathroom, and there’s a couple spare toothbrushes in the medicine cabinet.”

“Thank you, Dean.”

He feels the weight of Dean’s eyes on his shoulders as he slips into the bathroom. It feels nice. 

The bathroom is small, with barely enough room for the toilet, sink, and bath. Shelves are built into what looks like an old window frame, and just as Dean had said, they’re full of clean towels and washcloths. The bath is an old fashioned tub on clawed feet. A ring hangs from the ceiling above the tub, holding up pale blue curtains on both sides. The showerhead is new and shiny, and definitely not part of the original plumbing.

Castiel considers filling the tub with steaming water and soaking his aching body, but decides it isn’t the best idea. Not when he might fall asleep and drown. That would not be a great last impression to make on the man he’d just been flirting with.

But the idea of being clean draws him to the water like a moth to a flame, so he strips down quickly. The gauze from his injuries goes into the wastebasket, and his clothes are left in a pile around his feet. The shower controls are easy to figure out, and he’s glad he won’t have to deal with the discomfort of getting scalded or frozen on top of everything else.

The temperature outside had started to go down with the sun, but it had still been pretty hot, so he sets the water to just above luke warm. It feels heavenly as it sluices down over his shoulders, rinsing away sweat and dust. Unfortunately it doesn’t wash away the pain from his new injuries, or his headache.

An emptiness spreads through his belly and up into his chest. The familiar craving for the numbing effects of the painkillers he has in his saddle bags fills him. In an attempt to distract himself, he grabs a bottle of what looks like shampoo. The soap smells tangy, and when he turns it to get a better look at the bottle, he chuckles. Herbal Essences? Citrus blossom and green tea.

Dean had smelled of sweat and car oil, but there had been just a hint of something softer underneath…

He pours a little into his palm and sets the bottle aside. After ducking under the spray to make sure his hair is wet enough, he rubs the soap over his scalp. The scent explodes around him, and it hits him that he’s in a stranger’s house, using his shampoo, and would soon be wearing his clothes.

It isn’t the cool temperature of the water that makes him shiver. He puts his head back under the water to rinse away the suds, and when he closes his eyes a picture of Dean rises up in his mind’s eye. Sandy hair spiked up in different directions, sparkling green eyes, and pretty pink lips…

He wipes away the water sluicing over his face, and grabs the bodywash. As he starts spreading it over his skin, he begins to picture Dean doing the same. The other man is taller, and built slimmer than Castiel, but it isn’t too much of a stretch to imagine that his hands are on Dean’s body instead of his own.

It’s only a short leap from that to imagining Dean’s hands on his body. He trails his fingers down, and soaps up his groin. He combs his fingertips through the soapy curls around his hardening dick, and then lower. As he massages himself, he groans quietly. 

What the hell is he doing? Dean is just outside, and Castiel has no idea how thin the walls are.

He doesn’t stop though. The pain is finally receding, and his cravings are being replaced with a different kind. Wrapping his fingers around himself, he begins to imagine more than just touching. Would Dean’s skin taste like citrus? Would his mouth taste as sweet as it looks?

Stroking himself slowly, he wishes it were Dean’s dick in his hand instead. He wants to see those pretty green eyes burning with lust. His hand moves faster as he imagines it. Would Dean’s eyes grow darker? Would he bite his bottom lip the same way Castiel is currently biting his own?

A whimper escapes him. He’s close. His hand moves faster, his wrist twisting at the end of each pull. He cups his free hand over his mouth, smothering any sounds that might escape as his body grows taught, curling in on itself as his orgasm sweeps over him. 

His skin feels hot under the cool spray, and he lets it pound down on the back of his neck as he sucks in deep breaths. After a moment he straightens, and the water washes away the evidence of what he’s done.

A lightness fills him, and he grins. It’s been so long since he’s felt the need to care for his body like this, and now he’s done it twice in twenty-four hours. Maybe he should feel a little guilty for using Dean as inspiration for getting off, especially while borrowing the man’s shower, but he feels too good right now to worry about it. His pain has lessened considerably, and the craving for pills is gone. Endorphins are worlds better than prescription pain medication.

He turns off the water and pulls the curtain back. His image in the mirror catches his attention and he runs his knuckles over his darkening jaw. He really needs to shave, but he doesn’t feel like going outside to get his shaving kit. Besides, the stubble will be much softer by morning, because it doesn’t take him long to grow a beard. 

Does Dean like beards?

He slicks his hair back from his forehead and it immediately starts trying to rebel and curl into different directions. Hannah liked to tease him about how wild it can get when he doesn’t past it down with product--

Thoughts of his ex-wife sour his mood instantly. The mild post-orgasm euphoria fades. With a muttered curse, he steps out of the tub. Grabbing a towel he starts to dry himself, and then curses a little louder when he finds the growing bruises along his hip. At least his scrapes have stopped bleeding, but he’s still careful to avoid touching them with the towel. 

He throws the cloth around his shoulders and reaches for the clothes Dean had given him to wear. The bundle unravels into a blue Star Trek t-shirt and a pair of gray shorts. The t-shirt brings a measure of his good mood back. Knowing that Dean’s a bit of a nerd only endears him to Castiel even more.

Leaving the t-shirt off, he dresses in the shorts and folds up his own clothing. He uses one of the spare toothbrushes Dean had offered, and tries one more time to comb his hair into some semblance of order, but gives up when it refuses to be tamed. 

He tries not to think about how he’s grooming himself for Dean’s benefit. But his stomach still clenches with anticipation when he reaches for the door knob.

Dean is waiting for him at the table. His head comes up when Castiel steps out of the bathroom, and his welcoming smile freezes when his eyes land on Castiel’s bare chest. His wide eyes move over Castiel for a moment before he catches himself staring and blinks. His eyes snap up to Castiel’s. “Hey, Cas,” he says. “Feel better?”

Well if he had any doubt that Dean is attracted to him, the pure want in the once over Dean gave him would have cleared them up. Castiel smiles as he approaches the table. He no longer feels guilty for what he was doing in the shower besides washing, but he wishes that he’d had the foresight to invite Dean to join him. “Much better, thank you.”

“Do you want me to bandage up those scrapes for you?” 

“That’s probably a good idea,” Castiel says as he stops in front of Dean. He wonders if he should feel like a perv for jerking off to fantasies of Dean while he was less than twenty feet away. He doesn’t, not at all. Really, he just wants to do it again.

It’s a good thing that he isn’t a teenager anymore, or those thoughts would be dangerous while wearing the thin shorts Dean loaned him. It’s one thing to masturbate in Dean’s shower. It’s a whole other thing to stand right in front of him and pop a tent in his pants. As much as Castiel enjoys his fantasies, he’s not ready to actually take that step with Dean.

Although, if Dean keeps looking at him like he is now, he’s not going to be able to resist much longer.

Clearing his throat, Dean beckons him closer and starts rummaging through the first aid kit for more gauze and some medical tape. He seems surprised at how close Castiel is when he finally looks back at him, but hides it quickly. His eyes land on Castiel’s scar, but don’t linger long before he starts bandaging Castiel’s newest wounds. 

Grateful that he doesn’t ask, Castiel fiddles with the bundled shirt in his hand. “So,” he says, “Star Trek, huh?”

Dean’s surprisingly gentle hands don’t pause, but he flashes Castiel a cheeky grin. “Don’t judge.”

“I’m not,” Castiel protests. “I’m just curious which series is your favorite.”

“Next Gen, obviously,” Dean says as he smoothes a piece of tape over Castiel’s skin. “My cat is named Lore.”

“You named her after a villain?” 

“Duh, she’s a cat. All cats are villains. Don’t let the purring fool you.”

Castiel snorts a laugh, and doesn’t argue the point. “I’m more of a Star Wars fan myself. I had a cat named Luke when I was a kid. My dad often said he should have been named Lucifer.”

“Dude, nice. What’s your favorite movie?” Dean finishes taping Castiel’s side and pats his knee. “Put your foot up here.”

“Return of the Jedi,” Castiel answers as he obeys the order. He has to brace a hand on Dean’s shoulder to keep his balance. The muscles are firm under his palm. “Don’t you dare tease me about liking ewoks.”

Dean looks up at him, lips parted in an affronted scoff. “Excuse you, ewoks are awesome!”

They hold each other’s gaze for a few seconds before they both break down into snorting laughter. When they calm down, Dean grins and goes back to bandaging Castiel’s ankle. 

“When I was a kid,” Castiel says as Dean spreads ointment over the scrape, “My mom told me there was a monster in the attic that ate bad children. I didn’t believe her until the first time we watched Return of the Jedi. She noticed that I was freaking out during the Rancor scene, and leaned over to tell me that was the monster in the attic.”

“You’re kidding,” Dean says in disbelief. 

“Totally serious. For years, all she had to do was point at the attic door when I misbehaved, and I’d turn into the perfect angel.”

“Dude, that’s messed up,” Dean says as he covers Castiel’s ankle with gauze. “And it’s still your favorite in the series?”

Castiel nods, even though Dean isn’t looking at him. “The sarlacc scene is my favorite. And I still have a thing for Princess Leia,” he admits. Dean looks up at him, and Castiel can see a question in his eyes. It would be easy to end things now, whatever “things” means for them. The light flirtation they’ve been engaged in since they first met can be turned into friendly joking if he leaves that sentence hanging.

He could get his bike fixed, and get out of town. The craving he constantly lives with will be left miles behind him if he just keeps driving.

Or, he can stay for a while. See what comes of this. It seems like fate wants him to stay anyway.

“And Han Solo,” he adds in a low voice. “I could never tell what I wanted more. To be him, or to make out with him. I bet he’d be a great kisser.”

Dean’s hands go still, but his mouth tilts up in a mischievous smile. “You’d look hot in that outfit.”

Castiel hums thoughtfully. “You would too.”

That earns him a bright laugh, as Dean’s head tips back on his shoulders. He pats Castiel’s calf to let him know he’s done. “I don’t know ‘bout you, but now I’m in the mood for a Star Wars marathon.”

“I don’t know about a marathon,” Castiel replies, “But I wouldn’t mind starting with one movie and seeing how the evening goes.”

“A New Hope?” Dean asks, because of course he’s perfect and doesn’t want to start with the prequels.

He doesn’t realize what a loaded question it is though. Castiel has spent a long time running, riding away from every town after a meal and maybe a night in a motel. Something about Dean makes him want to stay for a little while. 

“Yes,” he says. To the movie suggestion, and maybe to Fate as well.

* * *

Butterflies. He has fucking _butterflies_ , like this really is a tween sleepover. And he’s not even wearing his cutest pair of panties.

Ducking his head to hide the blush _that_ thought brings to his cheeks, Dean gestures at the couch. “Make yourself comfortable.” When he notices Castiel’s limp when he obeys the order, Dean frowns. “Do you want some pain killers? I’ve got--”

“No!”

Dean blinks at the vehemence in Castiel’s voice, and he takes a closer look at him. His shoulders are tight, and he avoids Dean’s gaze, like he’s waiting for a fight. “All right,” he says calmly, in an attempt to put Castiel at ease, “You just look like you’re hurting pretty bad.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bite your head off.” Castiel relaxes and gives Dean a smile that doesn’t fully reach his eyes. “I just don’t like the effect painkillers have on me.”

“Okay, I get it.” He doesn’t, really. But he doesn’t like to take his meds, so it’s not like he can really judge. He quirks his thumb toward the kitchen. “I’m thinking popcorn. Do you want a drink to go with it? I’ve got rootbeer and Coke.”

Castiel’s smile turns genuine. “I would like that. Rootbeer, please.”

“You got it.” Dean heads to the kitchen and throws a bag of popcorn in the microwave. As he waits for it to finish popping, he contemplates Castiel’s defensive reaction about the pain pills. He supposes Cas could be allergic to them, but he has a feeling there’s something deeper going on there. 

But it ain’t any of his business, so he’s going to take Castiel’s excuse at face value.

With a bowl of extra buttery popcorn tucked in one elbow, and two bottles of home brewed rootbeer hanging from his other hand, he returns to the living room. He finds Castiel settled on one end of the couch, and Lore is back in his lap. He glares at the smug cat as he hands one of the bottles to Castiel. “Traitor cat,” he grumbles.

“Is she not normally this friendly?” Castiel asks as he accepts the bottle. His other hand stays occupied with stroking Lore from ear to tail.

She’s purring so loud that Dean can hear her from across the room as he rummages through his DVD collection. And honestly, he can’t blame her. Because he’d love to have that hand sliding across his skin too. “She’s friendlier than most cats, but I’ve never felt like she’d abandon me before.”

Castiel chuckles, and Dean tries not to feel jealous of his cat as he sets up the movie.

Once it’s running, he sits on the opposite end of the couch. He hates the wide open space between them, but closing it would be presumptuous. They’re not there yet. They may never be.

A guy can hope though.

As soon as he’s settled in the cushions, Lore gets up and crawls into his lap. “Hey baby girl,” he murmurs when she butts her head against his chin. “I forgive you for abandoning me for a new lap.”

Castiel grins and raises the bottle to his lips. Dean’s attention is snared by the way his lips wrap around the curved glass. He jerks his eyes to the screen as the opening scroll starts. He resists the urge to hum along with the music, and also the driving need to look over at the other end of the couch every ten seconds.

When the rancor scene starts he gives in and glances at Castiel, only to find him fast asleep. He’s half disappointed, and half amused. Shooing Lore off his lap, and ignoring the indignant tail flip she directs at him, Dean gets up and very gently extracts the bottle from Castiel’s loose grip and sets it on the table. He slips into his room and grabs a spare pillow and a knitted blanket from a chest at the foot of his bed and brings it back out to the living room.

His intention is to shake Castiel awake and give him the pillow and blanket before taking himself off to his own bed. His hand hesitates just short of Castiel’s arm. Hovering over Castiel while he’s sleeping is edging into creep territory, but Dean always gets transfixed by the blue of his eyes, so he takes a moment to look at all the details he’s missed before. There are lines around his eyes, the kind that look like they come from laughter. His stubble already looks like it’s attempting to become a beard.

His eyes catch on Castiel’s parted lips. They look even more soft against the dark stubble. Dean’s hand moves on its own, but he catches himself before he actually touches Castiel’s mouth. He is pretty sure Cas feels the attraction between them just as strongly as Dean does, but touching the sleeping man’s lips would be crossing a line.

Deciding that he’s been creepy enough, he finally touches Castiel’s shoulder. Dark blue eyes blink open in surprise, and for a split second Dean thinks he might get a fist in the gut from the way Castiel’s whole body goes taught. But recognition is quick to follow, and the tension eases from Castiel’s body as he looks up at Dean curiously.

“You fell asleep,” Dean says quietly. He holds up the blanket and pillow. “I thought you might want these.”

Castiel glances at the TV, where Chewy is hugging a blind and confused Han Solo. “Sorry,” he murmurs. “I’m more tired than I thought. Long day, I guess.”

“We’ll catch the movie some other time. I’ll feel guilty if I keep you up all night.” Dean offers the pillow and blanket again, and this time they’re accepted. As Castiel makes himself comfortable, Dean turns off the movie and heads for his room.

“Hey.”

Dean stops and turns back to Castiel. “Yeah?”

“Raincheck on the movie?”

Dean grins. “Definitely.”

It’s only been two days, two meetings. And Dean wonders what the hell he’s doing flirting with a man who’s going to take off as soon as his bike is fixed.

Once he’s in his room with the door shut and the lights off, Dean stands next to his bed. He stares at the rumbled blankets, and his imagination takes off. An image of being pressed face first into the sheets with Castiel’s body weighing him down plays through his mind, and he rubs a hand over his eyes in an attempt to clear it away. It doesn’t help. Neither do several rounds of breathing exercises.

Feeling silly for just standing there in the dark like an idiot, he strips down to his boxer briefs and slides into bed. The cool cloth of his sheets rubbing against his skin does nothing to slow his racing heart. A needy noise escapes his throat when he realizes that the couch is pressed up against the wall that the head of Dean’s bed is against. There’s only a thin wall between them. Only inches.

Too many inches.

Dean can’t remember the last time he’s wanted someone so badly. It had to have been since before he came home from Afghanistan. There had been someone in his squad… But he doesn’t really want to think about that time. He wants to think about Castiel.

He’d gotten hard as a rock when Castiel had closed himself away in the bathroom and he heard the water turn on. Knowing that Castiel was naked and soaping and using Dean’s washcloths and towels…

Dean’s cock twinges again at the thought. He’d managed to ignore it earlier, but now he’s alone and it’s demanding his attention again. 

Trailing his fingers over his skin brings goosebumps up in their path, and he soothes over the pebbled skin with his palms. His fingertips play over his nipples, which sends jolts of pleasure down to his groin. He follows the sensation, over his abs, and lower until his fingers dip under the waistband of his underwear. He rubs his hips, and with a small groan of surrender he pushes one hand under the cloth and wraps it around his aching flesh. With the other, he shoves the elastic band down behind his balls, and he sighs when the cool air touches him.

He’d told himself he wasn’t going to jerk off to thoughts of Castiel, but what the hell, he’s not a saint. He bites his lip as his fingers tighten. He pulls and his breath catches in his throat. He imagines Castiel between his legs. He pictures himself riding Castiel hard and fast.

He wants that. He wants to be fucked. It’s been so long since he’s been filled up by a partner rather than a lump of silicon. He needs it.

One of his hands slips down to cradle his balls for a moment before going further to press a dry finger against his entrance. He could use some lube, but doesn’t want to pause what he’s doing to grab it, so he’s careful as he works just the tip of his finger inside himself, up to the first knuckle. His other hand begins to stroke faster, and he tilts his head back on the pillow, biting his lips hard to keep from shouting when he comes. Streaks of wet heat splatter over his belly, and he gasps again as he imagines Castiel stroking him through his orgasm.

Afterwards, he lies there breathing deeply, holding himself as he softens. His body feels limp all over. It had been a much stronger orgasm than any of the unsatisfying ones he’s been giving himself lately.

Sucking in a lungful of air to bolster himself, he rolls out of bed. He blindly grabs something out of the hamper to clean himself off, then crawls back into bed. Despite how hot it had been during the day, a cool breeze blows in through the open window and he pulls a thin blanket up over his shoulders, wrapping his fists in the cloth and tucking it up under his chin. 

The endorphin fueled lethargy in his muscles spreads, eventually reaching his brain, and he falls asleep.

_He knows it’s a dream. He always knows it’s a dream. He can see the smoke in the distance. It’s too far to see anything but the oily black plumes boiling toward the sky, but he knows what he’ll find at the root of it._

_“No,” he whispers.”_

_His body doesn’t obey his mind. His feet shuffle forward. Each step covers miles, and soon he can see the flames._

_“No please.” He can feel the tears running down his face, and he wants to scream at the fact that his vision isn’t blurred by them. Everything is crystal clear, Ultra 4K HD._

_The wind shifts, and now the smoke is in his nostrils. Acrid and sweet, it burns down his throat._

_One more step, and he’s among the burning buildings. He struggles to close his eyes._

_“I can’t do this again,” he moans._

_Another step._

_He stands amidst the carnage. Broken buildings tower around him, windows empty of glass after the explosion, and they feel like eyes glaring at him with accusation. The first caravan truck is tipped on its side in the center of the street, burning so fiercely he can feel the heat even though he stands several yards away._

_He’s next to the center truck. It’s also on its side, and when he looks down reluctantly he can see Corporal Gallagher trapped under it, his eyes already glazed over. He can hear shouting and frantic cries for help coming from the other side, as Max tries in vain to resuscitate his sister._

_Another voice reaches him through the roar of fire, and the growing ringing in his hears. His own voice. Pleading, begging._

_“Hang on for me. Just hang on.”_

_Dean doesn’t physically move. But he’s near the burning truck, its heat searing his cheek, singing his hair._

_He sees himself crouched over his Captain. His other self’s uniform is black and filthy, torn in several places. His hands are red as he tries to stop the bleeding._

_The blood on his hands had seemed as hot as the fire. Dean had never been able to forget that detail. In the heat of the desert, Cain’s blood had burned him._

_“Stay with me,” Dean says dully. His dream self echoes the plea._

_But Cain is dying. Dean can’t stop the bleeding, but it’s already starting to slow to a trickle between his shaking fingers. Cain’s heart is slowing._

_This time when Dean takes a step, he doesn’t travel miles. Only a few inches. But he’s still closer than he wants to be._

_“Winchester,” Cain rasps._

_Both versions of Dean speak, although the one who knows this is a dream tries to keep the words behind clenched teeth. “Shh, save your strength.”_

_Cain’s laugh gurgles into a cough. Dean steps closer, and now he can see Cain’s face over his dream twin’s shoulder. Cain is smiling gently, blood leaking from between his lips, bubbling out when he exhales. “You know it’s too late.”_

_“Cain…” Both Deans’ voices are blended together as they speak to a dying man. Both of them hoarse with grief._

_“No, listen,” Cain says. Dean, the one who knows he’s dreaming, takes a final step and kneels down opposite of himself to look down at the man who had been his captain and mentor for so many years. His full attention is on Cain, even though the man is looking at the other Dean, the one who is burned and bleeding from the same explosion that had taken out the rest of the squad. “I need you to…”_

_He breaks off with a cough, and Dean shudders as blood splatters over his dream twin’s face. He keeps silent, waiting for the message._

_“Tell Collette,” Cain wheezes. More blood bubbles on his lips. “I’m just… I’m so sorry.”_

_Dean doesn’t ask him what he’s sorry for. It isn’t important. “I’ll tell her,” he promises._

_“Proud of you, son,” Cain whispers before he breaks off with another cough, another spatter of blood on Dean’s chin. “...so proud…”_

_And then he was gone._

_“This was your fault.”_

_Dean looks up into his own eyes. They’re bloodshot and overflowing with tears that make tracks through soot and blood. In that moment he can feel the pain again. The heat of the fire cooking the side of his face, and the agony radiating from his smashed leg. He knows if he looks down at himself he’ll be in his uniform again. A perfect mirror image of the man who is glaring at him with so much hate that it feels like a hot iron poker stabbing straight into his chest._

_They speak in unison. “This is your fault.”_

_He wants to protest. There’s no way he could have known about the bomb and the guerilla fighters waiting to pick off the survivors._

_“Your fault.”_

_The words taste like blood and ashes and truth._

_But inside he’s screaming with denial. He tries to open his mouth, to tell his younger self that it wasn’t his fault. But his muscles don’t respond to his wishes anymore now than they had at the start of the dream. His chest aches with the need to speak. His heartbeat thunders in his ears._

_It drowns out his screams._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's no such thing as too much shower masturbation, I say as I add a second shower masturbation scene in less than 2 days of fic time XD


	10. Chapter 10

A hoarse scream rips Castiel out of his slightly erotic dream of a green eyed man with freckles and a crooked smile. He jerks upright, automatically reaching for a gun that isn’t there. A second scream reminds him where he is.

Throwing the blanket back, he bolts up from the couch and runs for Dean’s bedroom. He finds the door unlocked, and goes through it without hesitating over the risk of invading Dean’s privacy. A ball of fur shoots past his ankles as he hurries to the bed where Dean is thrashing restlessly, fists clenched in the thin blanket covering his body. Castiel kneels on the mattress and barely avoids flailing limbs when he grabs Dean by the shoulders. “Dean! Wake up, you’re dreaming!”

He has to duck a fist, but grunts when a knee catches him in the ribs, thankfully on his uninjured side. Holding Dean down will likely make whatever is tormenting his dreams worse, but he’s mostly certain that Dean would feel like hell if he accidentally breaks Castiel’s nose in his sleep. 

Wrapping Dean’s wrists in his hands, Castiel also throws a thigh over Dean’s legs to pin him to the bed. “Dean, wake up!”

Dean’s whole body goes taught, and his eyes pop open, shining in the thin moonlight streaming through the open window. They dart around, taking in his surroundings before they fall on Castiel. Keeping his grip on Dean’s wrists firm, Castiel waits for the panic and confusion in Dean’s eyes to fade.

“Cas?” Dean gasps. His breathing is harsh, sawing in and out of his lungs, and Castiel can feel the flutter of his heartbeat where their chests are pressed together. 

Despite the situation, hearing his name in that roughened voice sends a pulse of want straight to Castiel’s groin. And due to Dean’s struggling, he’s practically straddling the man’s hips. “Hello, Dean,” he says, and feels heat rising into his cheeks when his own voice comes out thick with want.

Dean’s body relaxes, and he smiles a little bit. “Hey there.” He wiggles his fingers in a little wave, reminding Castiel that he’s still gripping Dean’s wrists and pressing them into the bed. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m kinda into this, but it’s usually a third date kinda thing.”

“Shit, sorry!” Castiel releases Dean and tries to roll away, but two arms come around his waist holding him in place. He blinks down at Dean in surprise.

A hand comes up to his face, Dean’s fingers brushing across his cheek. “I didn’t hit you did I?”

Castiel swallows and shakes his head, which dislodges Dean’s touch. He misses it instantly. “No, but I didn’t manage to dodge your knees very well.”

A frown pulls at Dean’s mouth, revealing dimples that Castiel finds completely charming. “You okay?”

His body has forgotten every hint of discomfort in favor of focusing on the deliciously firm body underneath him. If he doesn’t get up soon then Dean’s going to figure out just how good he’s feeling at the moment. “I’ll live. Are _you_ okay?”

Dean’s hands finally slip away, and Castiel escapes with his dignity intact. But he doesn’t go far, settling on the bed at Dean’s side. Dean sits up and rubs a hand over his face. His voice is muffled when he speaks. “Yeah… yeah I’m good.” He drops his hand, and even now that his face is shadowed, his gaze seems sharp and assessing. “Sorry I woke you.”

It’s on the tip of his tongue to ask Dean what he was dreaming about, but he bites it back. He gets his own share of fucked up trauma dreams, and he suspects Dean might have more than a few things from his time in the military that disturb his sleep. So he also knows how uncomfortable it is to talk about it.

But he wants to know everything about Dean. His favorite foods, whether he likes fantasy shows or just sci-fi, his thoughts on snow… what makes him cry out in agony while he’s sleeping. 

How has Dean managed to get under his skin so deeply already?

Castiel’s eyes drop to Dean’s bare chest, and he notices the symbol inked into his skin just above his heart. A pentagram surrounded by flames. He reaches out and touches the smooth skin. Dean’s breath catches at the intimate touch, but he doesn’t pull away. “What does this mean?” Castiel asks.

“It’s a symbol of protection,” Dean answers. “Everyone in my family gets one. It’s tradition.”

Castiel looks up at Dean through his lashes, and smiles. Maybe he’ll stick around for a few days and see what other interesting things he can learn about Dean. Suddenly it doesn’t seem like such a bad thing that his bike is broken.

“I should let you get back to sleep,” Castiel murmurs. 

Dean blinks. “Okay.”

Castiel stands, and moves to leave the room. Before he can shut the door behind himself, he’s stopped when Dean calls after him.

“Hey, Cas?”

He pauses and looks back. “Yes, Dean?”

“Thanks for uh...” Dean runs a hand through his hair, and shrugs. “You know.”

Castiel nods, because he does know. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Fur brushes against his leg, and he looks down to see Lore slipping past him again. She jumps up on the bed and starts butting her head up under Dean’s chin until he starts petting her. Castiel chuckles, and wistfully imagines trading places with her as he pulls the door closed behind him. 

He settles down on the couch and cuddles into the cushions. They never got around to pulling out the bed, but it’s still damn comfortable and his sore body sinks into it gratefully.

He wakes up with a cat in his face. Lore is sitting on his chest, staring at him placidly with mismatched eyes, as if this is a normal thing for her. Freeing his hand from the knitted blanket he’s wrapped in, he rubs her forehead with his thumb. “Good morning, Lore.” 

She responds with a rumbling purr that seems too big for such a small creature.

The squeak of hinges brings his attention to the front door. Dean peeks cautiously around the edge, but grins brightly when his gaze lands on Castiel. “Mornin’, Sunshine,” he says cheerfully.

Based on the sunlight shining in through the windows, Castiel assumes he’s slept rather late. He sits up, and is delighted to find that his headache doesn’t come raging back when he moves. His side still aches, and he’s not looking forward to standing up and learning how his ankle is doing, but no headache is definitely progress. Lore slips from his chest to his lap, and makes herself comfortable again. “You could have woken me up earlier, so you didn’t have to sneak around in your own home.”

Dean scoffs as he comes all the way inside. “Dude you obviously needed the rest. I’m not gonna wake you up just so I can clomp around like a dick.”

Castiel wonders if Dean feels guilty for interrupting his sleep. He hopes not. And he’s not going to bring it up and risk causing Dean any discomfort over sharing his home with a near stranger who witnessed a moment of weakness. “Well I appreciate that you allowed me to temporarily disrupt your routine.”

“Routines are for suckers.” Dean lifts a hand, offering Castiel his saddlebags that he’d forgotten to bring inside. “Not that I mind seeing you wandering around in my clothes or anything, but I thought you might want your own stuff.”

The teasing sparkle in Dean’s eyes prompts Castiel to reply in kind. He runs a hand over the Star Trek logo on his chest. “I don’t have anything of my own that’s nearly this cool though.”

Dean laughs and drops the saddlebags next to the couch. “Well you can borrow it for a while if you need some street cred.” He jerks his head toward the kitchen. “Help yourself to breakfast if you want. There’s cereal, or eggs if you feel like cooking. Ellen’s place is open too if you want something fancier.”

“Thank you, Dean.” Castiel nudges Lore off his lap and moves to stand, grunting when his bruises all make themselves known at once. His ankle objects with a sharp jolt, but otherwise holds. 

“You sure you don’t want to take something?” Dean asks. He makes an abortive move like he wants to help Castiel stand, but isn’t sure his help would be welcome. “I’ve got tylenol or aspirin in the medicine cabinet.”

Schooling his expression to hide his discomfort, Castiel shakes his head. “I’m really fine.”

Dean doesn’t look convinced, but he lets it go. “I’ll be out in the garage working if you need anything.”

Castiel thanks him again, and Dean gives him one last smile tinged with concern before disappearing back outside. Looking down at Lore, who had curled up in the warm space he’d abandoned, he says “I guess I’d better get dressed.” She responds with a _mrrrp_ of consent, and he chuckles as he grabs his things and heads for the bathroom.

He shaves and dresses, although he accepts Dean’s offer and keeps the Star Trek t-shirt on. It’s one less of his own shirts he’ll have to wash later. And there’s a not insignificant part of him that revels in wearing something of Dean’s. 

Maybe he should keep tamping down those kinds of feelings, but right now it doesn’t seem as important to avoid emotional ties as it had seemed yesterday.

He pokes around in Dean’s kitchen--he’s amused when he sees his only option is Lucky Charms, which he finds both charming and magically delicious--but decides he’s in the mood for something a little more substantial so he closes the cupboards and heads outside to visit Dean in the garage before he goes to the diner. As he approaches the building he hears muffled music. When he comes around the front to the open bay doors, Bon Jovi’s _Bad Medicine_ hits him at full volume. There are two cars that look to be the same model parked in the bays. The closer one looks to be in better condition, and the other that’s up on rails looks like it’s been stripped for parts. 

Ducking his head slightly so he can see past them, Castiel catches sight of his bike. He makes his way around the cars, and finds Dean sitting on a stool next to it.

“Bon Jovi, huh?” Castiel asks.

Dean’s head comes up sharply, and there’s a dangerous flash in his eyes. But it’s gone in a blink, along with the tension in his body. He grins at Castiel. A slow, sinful curving of his lips as his eyes slide down Castiel’s body and back up. He seems to approve of what he finds. “What did you expect me to listen to?” He gets up, wiping his hands on an oily rag. 

Distracted by the way Dean’s teeth press into his bottom lip, it takes Castiel a moment to parse the question. “Out this far in the middle of nowhere? Probably Toby Keith.”

Dean tucks the rag into his back pocket and shrugs. “The post 9/11 ultra patriotic good ol’ boy stuff doesn’t do it for me. I’m more of a classic rock kinda guy.” 

Just then the song changes over to what Castiel recognizes as Led Zeppelin, and Dean moves to the bench to turn it up. Lip syncing along, he plays air guitar until Castiel laughs. He turns the music back down to a reasonable volume. “We do have a variety of radio stations out here, you know,” Dean says, “But if you want something stereotypical for a country boy, I’ve got some George Strait in my personal collection.”

“I actually like George Strait,” Castiel admits.

Dean presses a hand against his chest, and gasps in overly dramatic shock. “A city boy _like you_ knows who George Strait is? Did Taylor Swift do a cover after she switched over to Top 40?”

Castiel rolls his eyes at the antics. “Alright, I get it.” He gives Dean a stern look. “But don’t go bashing Taylor.”

“Dude, TayTay’s my bae!”

“Wow,” Castiel intones, shaking his head in disbelief. 

They break at the same time, clutching their bellies as they snort-laugh through their amusement. Their snickers trail off slowly, and they end up grinning at each other like idiots. Well, Castiel knows his own expression is at least bordering on dopey. Dean is just a beam of sunshine made flesh.

Embarrassed by his own internal monologue descending into romantic prose, he clears his throat and looks away. The only other thing he can really focus on is his bike, and some of his humor fades when he sees the condition she’s in. The paint job is ruined, and the chrome is scraped up. And he’s pretty sure the handlebars are no longer straight. “So…” he says with a wince, “what’s the verdict on my baby?”

Dean turns his attention to the bike too, and his expression falls. He sighs and rubs a wrist against his hairline. “Getting her running won’t be a problem, but I need to order a new chain. I don’t have the right kind of links to repair this one, and ordering a whole one will be less expensive. We’ve got a scrapyard nearby and I think I can probably find the rest of what I need there if you want to save money.” He moves to the workbench at the back of the shop and opens a laptop, gesturing for Castiel to join him. “I’ve got a couple estimates here depending on where I get the parts.”

“How long do you think it’ll take to fix?” Castiel asks as he eyes the spreadsheet on the screen. He can afford all of the options, but he’s not opposed to used parts to save some money. 

“I already ordered the chain, but it’s coming from out of state. Tracking down parts in the scrap yard will take some time. Ordering anything else will add more…” Dean rubs at his nose, leaving a dark smear behind. His oily rag had done little to properly clean his hands. “So I’m thinking a week? Maybe two if you want me to clean up the paint job and scratches.”

Castiel waits for the sense of suffocation that usually comes with thoughts of staying in one place for more than a day or two. Instead relief over having an excuse to stick around a little longer rolls through him, and something inside his chest loosens. He smiles at Dean. “Well I suppose I should find ways to keep myself occupied in the meantime.” He pauses thoughtfully. “And probably a place to stay. Your couch was comfortable, but I can’t impose on your hospitality for that long.”

Is that a flash of disappointment he sees?

“Well, there’s the motel,” Dean says, turning back to his computer and pecking at the keyboard with his pointer fingers. “And if you need things to do, there’s the movie theater, a bowling alley, and the Roadhouse has a couple pool tables.”

“You still owe me a Star Wars marathon, too,” Castiel points out.

Dean peeks at him, eyes pleased and cheeks turning a lovely shade of pink. “I promise we’ll do it before you leave.”

They both go quiet, the knowledge that Castiel will only be in Purgatory for a short time dampening their moods. Looking for a change of subject, Castiel turns his attention to the cars occupying the bays. “You don’t just do repairs? You restore cars too?”

Dean brightens, pride squaring his shoulders as he approaches the car he’s working on. His grease stained fingers caress the metal where the paint has been removed. “Sometimes, when I can scratch up some extra cash for the junkers and the parts, and have some free time. This is a special project though. It was my dad’s car.” 

A shadow passes over his expression, and Castiel remembers Dean’s story about how his parents died. He looks at the car with new eyes. He’s always been more interested in motorcycles, but he knows a little bit about classic cars, enough to recognize that it’s an older Chevrolet from the 60s or 70s. It’s a giant beast of a car, but it takes little effort to imagine what a beauty it will be when the restoration is finished. 

“It’s going to be a gorgeous car,” he says. 

The sunshine comes back to Dean’s eyes. “Hell yeah she will.” He pats the car again, his touch gentle with affection. “And she’s gonna be _my_ baby soon.”

Castiel smiles wistfully, wishing he could stay long enough to see her when she’s done. 

Shaking away the melancholy he feels, he quirks an eyebrow at Dean. “Do you have some free time right now? I’d like to repay your hospitality. How about breakfast?”

Dean’s smile is dazzling. “I’d like that.”

* * *

The invitation is a pleasant surprise. Dean had thought about asking Castiel to breakfast himself, but had been a little wary of facing him this morning. Twice now he’s freaked out in front of the guy, but Cas had accepted both situations calmly, handling Dean’s crap better than most people do. 

Since getting discharged from the army he’s suffered from some nasty bouts of insomnia, and what sleep he did get was interrupted by nightmares that had him up and pacing the house. Back when Sam had still lived in the house with him, he’d sometimes threaten to hold Dean down and feed him Ambien. But the sleepless nights have dwindled over the time, along with the panic attacks. The one that nailed him in the laundromat the other night had been the first in several months.

Usually a dream like last night’s would have kept him awake for hours, but instead of dwelling on the bloody memories and letting them drive him out of his bed, he’d been preoccupied with thoughts of Castiel. Of how his weight had pushed Dean’s body deeper into the mattress. The way his thighs had felt caging Dean’s, the strength of Cas’ hands on his wrists, and all the kinky things they could do in that position. Cas had been affected by their position too. Dean’s head had been a little foggy at first, but he still felt the telltale twitch of interest pressed into his hip. 

When he’d fallen asleep with Lore’s purring in his ear, he’d dreamed again. But this time it was about blue eyes, soft lips, and warm hands.

Those dreams had been vague, but with definite erotic undertones. Remembering them now makes him flush slightly, and he hopes it isn’t noticeable in the shadows of the garage. “I’m actually starving,” he says in answer to Castiel’s invitation. “Let me wash up, and we can head to the diner.”

“Why don’t you meet me there?” Castiel asks. “I’m feeling all my bruises this morning, so I think I need a head start.”

He doesn’t offer painkillers again, even though his instincts are screaming at him to do something, anything, to ease Castiel’s suffering. But he’s got plenty of practice clamping down on those instincts since Sammy had grown from a clumsy, gangly kid into a competent adult who doesn’t like Dean treating him like a twelve year old anymore. “Sounds good. See you in a few.”

Castiel’s dorky little hand wave before he limps away makes something warm and fuzzy _(ugh)_ fluff up inside Dean’s chest. Until his eyes drop to Castiel’s ass. Even with a limp, there’s a masculine sway to Castiel’s hips that oozes sex appeal, and all the heat in Dean’s body rushes to his groin.

Stifling a needy noise, Dean heads for the industrial sink at the back of the garage and starts working a lather up with a bar of Orange soap.

“So, did you two bang or what?”

Dean jumps, and slants a glare at Jo. He hadn’t heard her come in over the sound of the faucet. 

At least she’s learned something about sneaking up on him, and isn’t within reach. She’s leaning against the junker he’s using for parts, her grin sharp and knowing. Although _why_ she thinks she knows something is beyond him. He’s never been as promiscuous as everyone around here seems to assume he is.

“Or what,” he replies in a deadpan as he goes back to scrubbing his hands clean. “And you’re late.”

She ignores the admonishment, because it’s not exactly like either of them keep to an official schedule and he’s always let her show up whenever she wants. “Why didn’t you bang?” she asks, strolling close now that it’s safe to do so, and leaning a hip against the counter next to the sink. “You had the perfect opportunity!”

He gives her an incredulous look as he rinses the suds from his hands. He grabs a towel from under the sink, and turns to face her while he dries his hands. “I’ve known him for two days.”

“So?”

“What do you mean, so?” Dean grunts as he tosses the towel on the counter. “I barely know him, and he’s going to be gone as soon as his bike is fixed.”

Jo follows him as he strides through the shop, headed for the house so he can change into something less holey and stained with grease. Not that he thinks he has to or anything, it’s just breakfast with a client, not a date. Besides, Ellen gets snappy when he sits on her benches with oily clothes. 

“You don’t need to give him a promise ring before you can kiss him,” Jo says. “Just have yourself a good tumble and let off some steam. It’s not like he’ll be around for long, and you can just forget about him when he’s gone.”

Dean frowns and stops suddenly enough that Jo’s sneakers slide in the gravel a little and she just barely keeps from crashing into him. “What have I done to give you the impression that I’m a one night stand kind of guy?” he demands.

“You’re a guy,” she counters in a matter of fact tone. “Guys don’t need to get to know someone to sleep with them. You just have to know where to stick things.”

He’s torn between wanting to beat the shit out of whoever treated her that way and gave her that impression of men, and being completely offended that she’s lumping him in with them. Irritation over both scenarios wins out. “Go to hell, Jo,” he snaps before spinning around and stomping into the house.

She doesn’t follow him, which is a smart move. 

By the time he’s changed his shirt and is halfway to the diner, his irritation has faded away. He can see where she’s coming from, even if he doesn’t like being lumped in with the jerks. He’s not a dick, and mostly doesn’t think with the one in his pants, so Hashtag Not All Men, or whatever. 

It would certainly make his life easier if she was right. And he’d be a big fat liar if he denied having any thoughts about it. Hell, he’d been the one to grab Castiel and keep him sprawled on top of him last night. Waking up to Cas practically straddling him had done a lot more than snap him out of his nightmare, and it was going right into his spank bank to pull out later.

And he’d teased Cas, making sure he knew Dean liked a little manhandling. He was only half joking, hoping to distract him from the reason he’d come into Dean’s room in the first place. But if Cas had kissed him, like he’d seemed like he’d wanted to, Dean would have been enthusiastically into it.

He’d expected Castiel to question him about the dreams. Instead he’d flirted back, touched Dean softly, and if he’d been curious at all he’d hidden it completely.

Dean was grateful at the time, but now he kinda wishes Castiel had wanted to talk about it. Which is all kinds of insane, because he doesn’t talk about his dreams. Not even in his sessions with Pam. He’s gotten much better about talking about his _feelings_ during several years of therapy, but the dreams? It’s easier to not examine them too closely. He already digs deeper into his own psyche in therapy than he wants to, and a guy’s gotta be able to keep some walls up for his own sanity, right?

He doesn’t want to burden anyone with that shit, even if he’s paying them by the hour. And he certainly doesn’t want to put the weight of his bullshit on Castiel, especially when he senses that the man has his own baggage dragging behind him. But for just a moment last night he’d wondered if Castiel would see it that way. 

As he pushes open the diner door, he shakes his head at himself. He has no reason to think of Cas as the Understanding Good Guy from some chick flick. He barely knows the dude, and it’s just his own wishful thinking that frames Castiel in that light.

His eyes take a moment to adjust to the dim interior. He looks around, nodding a greeting to friends and neighbors as his gaze passes over them. It takes him a moment to find Cas, because he was expecting him to be alone. But he finds him in the same booth they’d shared on their first meeting, and sitting across from him are Jody and Sam.

“You’d better go rescue him,” Ellen says as she passes him with a tray loaded down with sodas for a table by the door. “They’re probably already planning background checks before they approve him as your boyfriend.”

Dean rolls his eyes heavenward, even though he doesn’t think there’s anyone up there listening. “It’s not like that.”

“Sure, honey,” Ellen says with a wink like she’s in on some kind of conspiracy.

Why are all his friends like this?

Thankfully, Castiel doesn’t seem to be intimidated, so it doesn’t look like they’ve threatened him over Dean’s chastity or something equally stupid. In fact, he seems pretty engrossed in the conversation.

“--on the force for about ten years. My dad was a cop, so it was just natural to follow in his shoes.”

“Must have been busy in a place like Boston,” Sam says. He’s leaned forward, bracing his arms on the table. “Nothing like that out here. Mostly just speeding tickets and keeping tourists out of trouble.”

A haunted look flashes across Castiel’s face, but it’s gone so fast Dean wonders if he imagined it. “Busy enough,” he mutters vaguely.

Jody snorts. “Well I guess we won’t have to worry about you causing trouble while you’re here.”

“Are you disappointed?” Castiel teases.

Dean answers for her as he approaches the table. “Jody would throw a party to have one less troublemaker to deal with.”

“It’d be boring as hell unless I invite the troublemakers,” she counters with a smirk. She stands up and gives Dean a one armed hug, smiling up at him fondly when he squeezes her around the shoulders. “Present company especially included.”

“Hey!” Dean protests, more out of habit than disagreement. There’s a file in the sheriff’s office with his name on it, even if it hasn’t been updated since he was a dumb kid.

Chuckling, Jody gives him one more squeeze before disentangling herself and grabbing the boxed food Ash slides onto the counter for her. She wags a finger between Dean and Cas. “You two keep your noses clean, and maybe I’ll make you the guests of honor.” Then she calls a friendly goodbye to everyone, leaving the diner to a chorus of responses.

When the bell tinkles over the door, Dean takes a chance and slides onto the bench next to Castiel. He ignores his brother’s dumb smug face, addressing Castiel directly. “Heya, Cas. You order yet?”

“I was waiting for you.” Castiel slides his closed menu to the edge of the table. “I’m thinking pancakes.”

“Good choice,” Dean agrees.

He knows they’re holding each other’s gaze too long, but he’s stuck on just how blue Castiel’s eyes are from this close. 

Sam clears his throat, pointed and obnoxious. “Good morning to you too, Dean.”

Dean winks at Cas, before turning to acknowledge his brother. Just as he suspected, Sam is looking at him like he’s an adorable puppy or something. Why does everyone think he and Cas are brand new boyfriends?

“Mornin’, Bitch,” he says, because if Sam’s going to be a teenage girl about this, Dean’s going to be just as obnoxious in payback.

Mission accomplished. Sam’s nose wrinkles in distaste. “Jerk. You look somewhat clean this morning. Did you actually come in for breakfast before crawling under the leakiest cars in existence?”

“Soap exists,” Dean counters, punctuating it with a light kick under the table that earns him a mild bitchface. He leans back, spreading his legs slightly so his knee presses against Castiel’s and his own smile widens when Castiel returns a gentle nudge.

Before Sam can respond, Ellen comes around to take their order. “What’ll you boys have this morning?”

Sam gives her a rueful smile and shakes his head. “I’ve already ordered mine to go,” he says, just as Benny calls out his name and announces his order’s up. He stands, but pauses next to the table and gives Dean a questioning look. “Are we still on for fishing this afternoon?” 

Dean has been so distracted by Castiel that he’d completely forgotten their plans to hit the reservoir. He tamps down a disappointed groan. He’d been hoping to ask Cas over to finish movie night, but he and Sam have been planning the trip all week, and he’ll feel guilty if he cancels now. “Yeah of course,” he says, hiding his disappointment behind a smile. “I’ll close up around three, and come pick you up.”

Dean must not have hidden his disappointment well enough, or Sam’s just psychic because he turns to Castiel. “Do you fish?” he asks.

The question appears to surprise Castiel as much as it does Dean. “Uh, it’s been a while.”

“You should come with us,” Sam says. “I’ve got an extra pole. It’s Eileen’s, but she hates fishing and would be happy to let you use it.”

If Dean were the type for public displays of affection, he’d hug his brother. He’d have liked to have Castiel to himself, but this is a good compromise. “Yeah, Cas, we’d love to have you along,” he says, maybe a little too eagerly if the gleam in Sam’s eyes means anything. “If you’re going to be here for a while, we might as well keep you entertained.”

Castiel turns wide, questioning eyes on Dean, who does his best to convey in his expression how sincere the invitation is. “Okay then,” he says after a moment. “It sounds fun.”

Sam claps his hands together, rubbing them like a damn movie villain whose plan is going off without a hitch. “Then it’s settled! I’ll see you guys this afternoon.” And then he gathers up his food, and sweeps out of the diner, practically exuding a cloud of Smug Bastard fumes.

It would be annoying as fuck if Dean weren’t so pleased with his efforts. Not that he’ll let Sam know that though. What kind of big brother would that make him? 

Ellen’s eyes sparkle with humor, because she knows exactly what kind of shenanigans they get up to and she’s probably looking forward to seeing whatever retribution Dean has planned for Sam sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong. “So?” she says brightly. “Breakfast?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m genuinely curious about how the wordcount is going to pan out when I’m done with this. I’ve been cutting out a lot of stuff that was in Feels Like Home because it doesn’t apply to SPN characters, but also my prose is slightly wordier now and I’m adding a little more character introspection. So sometimes I think the new version of the story will be shorter, but that would honestly surprise me too since I’m a wordy bitch.


	11. Chapter 11

After their orders are taken and they’re left alone, Dean moves to the other side of the booth. Castiel feels a keen sense of loss, but they’re both big men and it would be uncomfortable to stay on the same bench, bumping elbows as they try to eat. On the other hand, from across the table he gets a lovely view of Dean’s freckles highlighted by the sunlight peeking through the window blinds, so it’s worth not having Dean’s thigh pressed against his own under the table. 

And then something nudges against his ankle. Castiel’s eyes widen, and Dean’s smile turns flirty. It’s not footsy exactly, Dean seems to remember his sore ankle, but having their feet slotted together under the table still feels like they’re doing something inappropriate right out in the open. And maybe they are. It’s a small town, where he wouldn’t exactly expect open minded attitudes. But the few conversations he’s had with the locals, about Dean specifically, makes him wonder if that’s something he doesn’t need to worry about here.

But if Dean cares about the opinions of others about who he’s flirting with--and he _is_ flirting--he doesn’t show any signs of it. When their food comes, he keeps his feet tucked together with Castiel’s as he digs into his breakfast scramble. 

As they eat, Dean grills him with questions about his career in Boston. Castiel answers carefully, leaving out the reasons he’d taken his extended leave. He feels a pang of guilt over keeping secrets when he’s had a glimpse at the skeletons in Dean’s closet. Dean is easy to talk to, and probably wouldn’t judge him for his motivations. 

Or he might, and things will be mildly uncomfortable until Castiel’s bike is fixed. 

In the end, Castiel decides it’s for the best not to open up any further. Maybe if he were staying longer, something more permanent than a short vacation. But he’ll be gone in a week, and there’s no need for Dean or anyone else in Purgatory to know his secrets.

“I should probably get back to work,” Dean sighs as he finishes his second cup of coffee. They’ve once again chatted away a small chunk of the day. “I’m surprised Jo hasn’t come hunting me down to drag me back already.”

“Aren’t you the boss?” Castiel asks as he throws down a couple bills on the table. He glares at Dean when he pulls out his wallet, only relenting when Dean smiles sweetly and puts it back in his pocket. 

“Sometimes I wonder,” Dean grumbles as he stands.

Castiel stands too, and hisses with pain when his weight comes down on his injured ankle. The flare of pain fades quickly, but Dean still reaches to steady him, his hand warm around Castiel’s elbow.

“You alright?” 

He tests putting his full weight on that foot, and grimaces. “I’ll be okay. The walk to the motel’s going to be a bitch though.”

There’s a flash of disappointment in Dean’s eyes, and Castiel wonders if Dean expected him to continue sleeping on his couch. But whatever disappointment Dean feels is quickly hidden, replaced with worry. “I can give you a ride.”

“Thank you, Dean.” Castiel tests his ankle again and it’s easier now, but he should probably baby it for a few days. 

Dean stays by his side as they walk outside, where the heat of the day is a reminder that it’s still summer in the desert. It’s a bit of a shock to the system after sitting in the cool diner all morning. 

“Do you really want to come fishing with us?” Dean asks as they stroll slowly across the street, in deference to Castiel’s limp. “It’s bound to get a little crazy. Sam and me are both competitive fucks.”

Castiel chuckles. He’s definitely been doing that a lot more since he met Dean. “It sounds like fun. I haven’t been fishing since I was a kid.”

“I promise we’ll go easy on the ribbing if you fail miserably.”

“Yeah, we’ll see about that,” Castiel counters. “I might kick both your asses.”

Dean snorts. “Sure, Cas. Whatever you say.” He slants a sly look at Castiel. “You might win against Sam because he’s a goody two shoes, but I’m a cheat.”

“How do you cheat at fishing?” Castiel demands, mystified.

Dean’s eyes shine like fresh grass in the sunlight, made even brighter by the mischief sparkling in them. He taps a finger against his nose. “Trade secret.”

Castiel huffs, half annoyed and half amused as he follows Dean into the house to gather his things. Then they go back outside and around behind the garage where there’s a large carport. There’s space for three cars, but at the moment there’s only a jacked up Bronco parked inside. It sports a massive roll bar, a push bar across the front grill, and huge tires with thick tread. The shell is off, leaving the back open to the sky. It looks like it might be painted black, but there’s such a thick layer of dirt caked on the sides that it appears brownish-gray.

“Wow,” Castiel says as he reaches out and runs a finger through the dirt, leaving a black stripe in its wake.

“Don’t be judgy,” Dean warns teasingly. He pats the Bronco’s hood, creating a puff of dust around his palm. “It’s mostly for going out in the mountains and trying to get stuck.”

Castiel slants a disbelieving look at him. “ _Trying_ to get stuck?”

Dean opens the driver’s side door and gets in. He’s slightly taller than Castiel, but he still has to hop slightly to get in because it’s jacked so high. “Yeah, you know,” he says when Castiel opens the passenger door. “I take it out into the rocks and see what I can make it climb.”

It doesn’t take as much effort to get into the truck as Castiel expects, because there’s a handle just inside the door that he can use to haul himself inside. “Sounds insane,” he says once he’s seated.

Dean’s laughter is almost drowned out by the engine roaring to life when he turns the key. It settles down into a pleasant rumble that Castiel can feel in his bones. Dean drapes his arm over the back of Castiel’s seat and winks at him before twisting to watch where he’s going as he backs out of the carport. “Yeah well, sanity is for squares. You’re not a square, are ya, Cas?”

Castiel scoffs lightly, but doesn’t argue the point. 

The drive to the motel is short, and soon Castiel is alone in his new room. It had been difficult to say goodbye to Dean, even knowing he would see him later in the day. He’s definitely looking forward to seeing him again as soon as possible.

He throws his stuff on the chair in the corner of the room and settles down on the bed, sighing in relief when the weight comes off his ankle. After staring at the ceiling for a few minutes, he digs his cell phone out of his pocket. His thumb brushes over the keys on the simple prepaid phone several times before he takes a deep breath and punches in one of the many numbers he’s been avoiding for a long time.

He puts it on speaker and sets it on his chest. One ring, two rings. Three--

“Hello?”

“Hello, Doctor McLeod.”

“Castiel! Sweetie, you aren’t my patient anymore, there is no need to be so formal.” She’s cheerful as ever, but he can hear the relief in her voice. 

“I know, Rowena,” Castiel says, after swallowing down the guilt prodding at him for not letting her know he was leaving town. “But it’s been a while since we’ve talked, and I wasn’t sure…”

“ _Och_ , you know I’m always happy to hear your voice,” she interjects when he trails off. 

“I’m sorry it’s been so long,” he says. “I feel like a bad friend.”

He’s known Rowena since he started his career as a detective. She’s the agency’s shrink, but their relationship had quickly moved past professional and into a close friendship. 

“Never that,” she objects firmly. He can picture the way she’s probably rolling her eyes at him, since he’s seen it so many times while he was in her office, and being what she claims is _deliberately obtuse_. “I understand if you feel like you need a wee bit of distance.”

“Not just a ‘wee bit’,” Castiel says with a chuckle. “I’m on the other end of the country.”

“Oh? Where are you?”

“The middle of nowhere,” he responds. “But somewhere in Utah.”

Rowena’s laugh tinkles across the airwaves, infecting Castiel with her humor until he’s joining in. It feels good to talk to her, and he’s not sure now why he’d been afraid to call. He’d convinced himself she would be angry at him for leaving, and maybe she has been. But he misses her more than he fears her penchant for holding a grudge for those who push her too far. He’s relieved to know he hasn’t reached that threshold yet. Even during his downward spiral into depression and addiction, and when she had visited him in the hospital after his overdose attempt, there had never been censure in her eyes, only worry.

“How have you been, dearie?” she asks when their laughter fades out.

“Clean,” Castiel answers. 

“That is very good news.”

He grunts. “It hasn’t been easy.”

She tsks softly. “Overcoming addiction never is. But you’re strong.”

He wants to argue with her about that, but this isn’t a therapy session and he doesn’t want to have that argument with her again right now. When she’s not paid by the hour, she’s even more sharp with her advice. Which he loves her for, and it’s part of why he considers her such a good friend. But he doesn’t have the energy to out-stubborn her at the moment, and isn’t in the mood to concede to her superior wisdom.

They fall silent, but it doesn’t feel as awkward as he’d feared it might. It feels so much like old times, when they’d be sharing a bottle of wine in her fancy uptown condo, each patiently waiting for the other to pick up the thread of conversation while they mentally regrouped, that the last of his guilt slips away.

“So did you just call me to use up airtime?” Rowena teases after a moment.

Why had he called her? He’d avoided speaking to anyone from home for over six months now. There are plenty of people he probably should have called first, but he knows he can count on Rowena to give him an honest opinion. As much as he enjoys Dean’s company, he isn’t sure that giving in to the ever increasing urge to get involved with him is a good idea.

“Castiel?”

“I met someone,” he blurts.

This time the silence on the line definitely holds a slight air of surprise. But Rowena recovers quickly. “That is wonderful news, Castiel,” she says enthusiastically. “Tell me about her.”

He hesitates as it occurs to him that he’s never told Rowena about his attraction to men. It isn’t something that had ever come up because he’d met her when his main focus was his career, then after he’d met Hannah it was a moot point. But he doesn’t have any reason to hide the information from Rowena now that the subject has come up. He’s seen the little rainbow flag in the pen container on her desk. “Him, actually,” he says. “His name is Dean. My bike broke down and he’s fixing it for me.”

She doesn’t miss a beat. “Oh my, a mechanic is he? Sounds delicious,” she purrs teasingly. “Maybe if you play your cards right you can get your bike fixed for free…”

Castiel barks out a laugh. “ _Rowena_ ,” he says in mock reproach.

“What?” Her voice is cheerfully defensive. “I am no prude, and I happen to know you are not one either. Hannah has told me a few stories about you.”

The mention of his ex-wife doesn’t make him flinch. There’s only a twinge of regret instead of the great stabbing pain he used to experience at thoughts of how things had ended between them. 

He doesn’t want to talk about her though. Dean is a much more enjoyable subject. “We’ve only had a few meals together,” he says, deliberately leaving out the fact that he’d used Dean’s shower and slept on his couch last night. “I don’t know if it’s a good idea to take it any further. I need to come home eventually.”

There it is. The truth he’s been avoiding by leaving it in dust behind his bike tires. He’s been on the road for half a year, ever since he’d gotten out of the hospital. He hasn’t stayed more than a night in any one place, because he’s been tormented by the itch under his skin. The one that makes him crave another pill to dull it. It’s slowly faded, but it’s only now that he’s given any thought to staying in one place for any length of time. 

And to his surprise, there is no itch. No suffocation. The urge to run is missing.

He isn’t naive, he knows Dean hasn’t somehow helped “heal” him. Time has done that. But Dean brought it to his attention by making him stand still long enough to notice. 

“Castiel,” Rowena says softly, “I’m going to give you some professional advice, free of charge.” 

He snorts at her. She never charges him anymore. And she’s always willing to give him her professional opinion whether he wants it or not.

She steamrolls over his response. “Home is where the heart is, Castiel. If you decide you’ve found a new home, then stay.”

Castiel genuinely likes Dean. It’s rare to find the kind of instant connection they have. But... “We just met, Rowena. I hardly know him well enough to feel like he’s worth picking up and moving my whole life for.” 

“I know, dearie,” she replies in a gentle tone. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t explore the possibility. Don’t let a false sense of duty to your past hold you back if this attraction turns into something more.”

He has responsibilities in Boston. He’d left his mother in charge of his share of the family business, and he still has his apartment, and an open invitation to come back to his job once he’s ready. No matter what happens in Purgatory, he’ll need to go home eventually. But it feels good to know that at least one person involved with his life back there supports whatever decisions he makes in regards to when he goes back, and whether he’ll decide to still call it home. “Thanks, Rowena,” he says gruffly. “For everything.”

“You’re always welcome, sweetie,” she says warmly. “So... tell me more about this _Dean_.”

He laughs, and begins answering her questions. They talk until he runs out of minutes, ending the call with him promising to keep in touch. After hanging up he’s full of energy. He can’t sit still, but there really isn’t anything to do for a large part of the day, and he really should be resting his injuries. So he charges his phone minutes back up, and makes some more calls. 

His conversation with his chief goes well. Somehow he’d never lost faith in Castiel’s abilities, despite all the trouble over the last few years. The job offer is still open any time, but Castiel makes it clear that he still isn’t sure when he’ll be back in Boston. That call is interrupted near the end by a familiar voice, one which Castiel had missed more than most.

“Castiel you weren’t planning on hanging up without talking to me, were you?”

“Hey, Charlie,” Castiel says with a laugh. “You were actually next on my list.”

There’s a delicate harrumph, and he can picture her dramatic eye roll. “I’m your partner,” she says dryly. “I should have been at the top of your list.”

Technically she isn’t his partner anymore, not while he’s on leave. But the bonds of friendship they’d developed by working together are far stronger than anything professional. And he really had been intending to call her too, especially after Rowena’s encouragement about his interest in Dean. If anyone would be interested in the new developments in his love life, it’s his nosy best friend. 

Unlike Rowena, Charlie has been aware of his bisexuality all along, so he has no hesitation over telling her about Dean. When he tells her the same things he shared with Rowena, she’s far more vocal in her excitement. To the point where he has to hold the phone away from his ear to avoid her ear piercing squeal. 

“He sounds dreamy,” she sighs. “Guess I’d better get started on the background check and make sure he’s not a creepy serial killer, so you can hop right on that.”

“He’s ex-military,” he points out. “I’m pretty sure his record is clean.”

“You never know until you check,” she singsongs.

He sighs, knowing there’s no dissuading her. They chat for a few more minutes before their boss gets irritated enough to demand the use of their phone back. 

After speaking with Charlie, he makes the hardest call of all. It’s difficult dialing his mother’s number, because if he felt bad about dropping off Rowena and Charlie’s maps, disappearing on his mother makes him feel like a naughty child. 

She’s ecstatic to hear from him, which makes him feel even more guilty. But like everyone else, she refuses his apologies, tearfully insisting that she’s glad he’s safe and sound and that’s all that matters. It doesn’t feel like a lie this time when he promises to keep in more frequent contact.

She grills him with questions, which he does his best to answer while avoiding any mention of Dean. The only answer he can’t give at all is when he plans on coming home again. Her sigh is long suffering, but she doesn’t push him for more of a commitment. She does, however, warn him that his father won’t be pleased, and suggests letting her deal with him. Which is an offer Castiel gladly accepts.

By the time he finishes all the phone calls it’s well after lunch, but he still doesn’t expect Dean to show up for more than an hour. When Castiel’s stomach growls, reminding him that it’s been a while since breakfast, he wonders how far he’d have to go to get some food. His hip and ankle don’t ache so badly since he’s been resting them, and he thinks he’ll be fine to walk a few blocks to pick something up. If he remembers correctly, the grocery store isn’t very far. When he told Bobby that he’d be staying longer, he’d been set up in a larger room that is equipped with a mini fridge and a microwave, so he could pick up a few things to store in the fridge.

He glances at the clock. There should be enough time to get to the store and back. He grabs his keys and wallet, and makes for the door. When he opens it though, he finds Dean there with his fist raised to knock.

Dean jumps back slightly, but his wide-eyed surprise fades quickly into a sheepish smile. “I know I’m early,” he says, “but I needed to hit the store to pick up some supplies. I got a few extra sandwiches and wanted to see if you’re hungry.” He holds up a plastic bag stamped with the grocery store logo.

“You have excellent timing,” Castiel says with a welcoming smile as he steps back and gestures for Dean to come in. “I was just about to go looking for lunch.”

“Dude, no,” Dean protests. “You shouldn’t be walking around that much, man. I’ve got ya.” As Dean steps past him, Castiel catches the scent of car oil, and a hint of something tangy underneath. Heat coils in his belly when he remembers the soaps he’d used on his own body while borrowing Dean’s shower.

They settle on the bed, with the plastic bag between them. Dean digs through it, pulling out a sandwich that he holds out to Castiel. “I wasn’t sure what you’d like, so I hope you don’t mind roast beef with cheddar.” He pulls out a handful of single serving mayonnaise and mustard packets. “If you want any of this, you’d better claim it before I do. I like a lot of sauce.”

Castiel laughs and grabs two of each before he unwraps his sandwich. They prepare their food in silence, although Castiel snorts with amusement when he sees how much mayo Dean is using.

“Sandwiches are just mayo delivery devices,” Dean says, as if imparting a great and ancient wisdom. He flashes a mischievous glance at Castiel through his lashes. “You’re not allowed to tease me about getting fat.”

“Hey, poutine is in my top three foods of all time,” Castiel protests. “I have no room to tease you for drowning your food in condiments.”

Dean’s head cocks to the side. “What’s poutine?”

“Fries covered in cheese curds and gravy,” Castiel answers before taking a large bite of his sandwich. It could use some pickles, but it’s still quite good. 

Dean freezes, his eyes wide with wonder. “Are you serious?”

Castiel nods, chewing slowly to savor the rich flavor of the beef.

“Oh my god,” Dean breathes. “That is something I need in my life.”

“I know how to cook it,” Castiel says, mouth still full because he knows Dean doesn’t care.

A slow smile spreads across Dean’s features, making his eyes seem greener and hinting at dimples. He doesn’t say anything, just biting into his own sandwich, but something in his expression says that maybe what he really needs in his life is Castiel.


	12. Chapter 12

It had felt like a gamble to see if Castiel wanted to share another meal with him after they’d hung out at breakfast, but Dean couldn’t stand the idea of letting him fend for himself while he’s still limping. At least that’s what he told himself as he drove over to the motel. But spending another half hour with Castiel to himself made him admit--at least to himself--that he’d really just wanted to see him sooner rather than later. 

Which means trouble for his heart. But he’s always been the reckless Winchester, so he’ll just have to deal with the fallout when Castiel eventually leaves. He knows what he’s getting himself into, but right now it feels like the pros are outweighing the cons. 

Especially when Castiel seemed to light up when Dean showed up. He could have been happy for the food, but Dean isn’t a dumbass. He recognizes the flirty smiles and lingering looks Castiel has been directing at him, and Dean’s plenty willing to pick up with Cas is putting down.

Dean does most of the cleanup after they’re done, waving away protests, and then they make their way outside together. Heat washes over them, and Dean’s looking forward to the icy cold drinks packed in a cooler in the Bronco’s back seat. It’s parked across several parking spaces because it has a trailer hitched to the back with two large shapes covered in tarp. He grins when Castiel gives him a curious look and walks over to lift the corner of the tarp, revealing a pair of wheels.

“Four-wheelers,” Dean explains before he drops the tarp back down. He tucks it back in so it won’t flap too much when he gets up to speed on the road. “The reservoir is pretty big, and sometimes it’s easier to park the truck and use these to get to the prime fishing spots.” His tilts his head, giving Castiel’s legs a pointed look. “Especially if you’re not up to a long hike.”

A rueful smile tugs at Castiel’s lips. “That does sound like a good idea. What about Sam? Is he bringing one too?”

“No, he’ll ride one of these and I’ll ride the other one.” Satisfied that the tarp is properly fastened down again, Dean heads for the truck’s cab, tossing a grin over his shoulder. “You can ride behind me, but you’ll have to hold on tight. There’s rumors that I’m a crazy driver.”

He adds a wink for good measure, and Castiel’s husky chuckle follows him as he pulls himself up into the driver’s seat.

“Maybe I should ride with Sam,” Castiel says when he takes his place in the passenger seat.

Dean scoffs. “Sure if you don’t wanna have a good time, maybe.”

Castiel’s pretty blue eyes sparkle with mirth. “Are you offering me a good time, Dean?”

Turning the keys to start the engine gives Dean a moment to consider the question. And there’s really only one answer. “Sure am, Cas,” he says with a grin before turning his attention to pulling out of the motel’s parking lot. The huff of soft laughter he gets for his proclamation keeps him grinning like an idiot for a good chunk of the drive through town.

They ride in silence, pulling off Main Street, and taking a few turns until they’re pulling up in front of a small yellow house with white trim, a nicely designed zero-scape yard, and a police cruiser parked in the driveway. Because he’s an annoying shit, he lays on the horn until the front door opens and Sam glares at him from the porch. His brother flips him the bird and disappears briefly. He reappears with a couple fishing poles slung over his shoulder and his tackle box in his other hand. Eileen follows him out, and wiggles her fingers at Dean and Castiel in greeting.

She waits on the curb while Sam loads his gear in the back of the truck. When he’s done, he wraps her in a hug, lifting her off her feet. She laughs, her head tilted back as she kicks lightly at Sam’s shins, but she gives in quickly and lets him kiss her goodbye. They’re both smiling like dumb kids in love when he finally releases her, setting her gently back on her feet and placing one more kiss on top of her head before turning to climb into the Bronco’s back seat.

As usual the sight of their open and joyful affection makes something twist in Dean’s chest. It’s not jealousy, not exactly. He’s fucking thrilled for his brother, and he adores Eileen. Finding each other was a miracle for both of them, considering how unlikely it was, with Sam being a small town boy and Eileen coming all the way from frickin’ Ireland. Dean couldn’t ask for better for Sam, and loves Eileen just like a sister.

But he’s been to far more places in the world than Sam, and somehow he’s never found someone that makes him feel as giddy as Sam acts around Eileen, even after several years of being together. It mostly doesn’t bother him. He knows he can be kinda difficult to have a relationship with. First it was his obligation to his family, and taking care of Sam after his parents died. Then it was his military career, and the way it made settling down in one place difficult. And then afterwards… well he wouldn’t blame anyone for wanting to avoid his metric ton of baggage. 

Dean’s eyes drift to Castiel as he leans out the window and signs to Eileen. He thinks about how Castiel hasn’t looked at him differently, or treated him like he’s fragile after witnessing a couple of his bad moments. He thinks about how Castiel already seems to understand him better than most of the people in his life. And he thinks about how Castiel’s home is back in Boston, and forgetting that fact is going to lead to some serious heartache.

“Hey,” Sam says softly, leaning over the seat back so his voice only carries to Dean. “You, okay?”

He’s not feeling quite as high on life as he was when he pulled out of the motel parking lot. But he’s a big boy, and he can accept that for the moment he’s got Cas at his side. It’s enough for now. “I’m good,” he says to Sam, and he doesn’t even have to fake a genuine smile for him, because it’s the truth.

Castiel leans back in his seat, and Eileen stands on her tiptoes to look over the edge of his door at Dean. “No driving off cliffs for fun!” she warns. 

Dean presses a hand to his chest and feigns shock. “Me? I would _never._ ”

“I certainly hope not,” Castiel murmurs. Sam snickers behind him.

Eileen levels a finger in Dean’s direction. “I mean it.”

“We’re just going to the reservoir.” Dean draws an X over his heart. “No joy riding, I promise.”

Her eyes remain narrow with suspicion for a moment, but eventually she snorts and waves them away. “Get out of here,” she orders as she steps back from the truck. 

With a lazy salute, Dean settles back in his seat. He rolls his eyes when he sees Sam blowing Eileen a kiss through the rearview mirror, then flashes a grin at Castiel. “Ready?” 

Castiel looks uncertain. “Do you make a habit of driving off cliffs?”

In the back, Sam laughs. “Don’t worry, Cas. There aren’t any cliffs around the reservoir,” he calls over the noise of the truck’s engine as Dean applies his foot to the gas.

Sam’s words only seem to ease Castiel’s nerves a little bit. He casts several sidelong glances at Dean as they make their way out of town. The drive isn’t long, only about half an hour to get to the canyon and then another fifteen minutes to get up to where he can park the truck. 

“Twenty dollars on the first fish, and twenty on the largest?” Sam asks as he jumps out. He goes straight to work on freeing the four-wheelers while Dean and Castiel disembark from the truck. He doesn’t wait for an answer from Dean since it’s they’re usual starting bet. They’ll start making more as the day goes on. Instead he turns his attention to Castiel. “You in?”

Dean unhooks the fastenings on the other side of the trailer. “You don’t have to if you’re worried about money,” he says. He doesn’t imagine Castiel has a lot of spare cash, especially with the upcoming cost of fixing his bike. 

Not that Dean has any intention of charging him full price. But Cas doesn’t have to know that.

“I’m in,” Castiel says, picking up Sam’s gauntlet. “How about another twenty for whoever gets the most?”

Well, he’s either confident of his skills, or isn’t worried about the cash. And Dean’s not going to turn down his money when he wins the bets. “Hell yeah, city boy! Bring it on!”

Between the three of them, they get the four-wheelers unloaded from the trailer and their gear strapped to the bars behind the seats. The cooler with food and drinks is tied down behind Sam, giving Castiel room to ride behind Dean.

Scooting forward on the seat to make room for Castiel to join him, Dean tries not to look as eager as he feels. “C’mon, Cas. Hop on.”

Castiel eyes him warily. “I’m not going to regret this, am I?”

“Oh hell, he’s not that bad,” Sam says. He starts the engine on his four-wheeler, and then gives Dean a shit eating grin. “At least on flat land.” Then he takes off, leaving a trail of dust behind him.

Dean glares after his brother, silently planning payback. When he looks back at Castiel, he jerks his head in a beckoning gesture. “I promise to be on my best behavior.”

Castiel gives him one last assessing look, then he rolls his eyes and steps close to swing his leg over the seat. He leans into Dean’s back, wrapping muscled arms around his waist. The heat of his body is heady, and Dean takes a moment to soak it in.

And then Castiel’s lips are brushing the shell of his ear, and his voice is smooth as velvet when he speaks. “Maybe you don’t need to be on your _best_ behavior.”

A shiver slams down Dean’s spine before he can do anything to suppress it. He just manages to not tilt his head and offer his neck for Castiel’s mouth. Instead he turns just enough to see the blue of Castiel’s eyes, and while they sparkle with mischief there’s something about the lift of his brow that tells Dean he’s dead serious. 

Dean’s voice comes out deeper than intended. “Noted.”

A slow smile spreads across Castiel’s features, and he settles more comfortably against Dean’s back. “Sam’s got a head start,” he says, as if he hadn’t just rocked Dean’s world.

Clearing his throat, Dean revs the four-wheeler’s throttle and lets up on the brake. He follows Sam’s path around the edge of the water, but all his senses stay trained on every point of contact between his and Castiel’s bodies. 

* * *

Castiel wins the first bet when he reels in the first fish less within fifteen minutes of casting his line. The brothers both grumble about beginner’s luck, but they’re good natured about it. Biggest fish and most fish are still up for grabs, but they’ll have to wait until they’re done for the day to determine the winner. Dean predicts Castiel won’t catch anymore, since he’s already shot his good luck on the first fish, then curses loudly when Castiel reels in a second before he even gets a single bite.

The next hour passes without much excitement. Castiel finds a weather worn log to lean against near the edge of the water, and lazily watches the bobber on his line. He can’t remember the last time he’d just sat around and done nothing for long stretches of time. 

Technically fishing is an activity, but he hasn’t caught anything since he got lucky with the first two. The second fish had been too small to keep, but the first is still alive on a hook chain in a small pool nearby, swishing its tail languidly. Castiel would have released it too, but Sam and Dean fish for food. Every once in a while he glances at the large golden trout with a frown of apology, but he is still looking forward to the fish fry Dean has planned for later.

The sun sinks toward the horizon as the afternoon wears on, and the brothers intend to stick around until they’ve caught their limit or until they’re too tired to stay up. But as the evening shadows grow deeper around the reservoir, Dean leaves his pole in Sam’s care and disappears to collect firewood from under the trees growing tall around the water. 

Castiel scans the treeline, taking in the calm beauty of the terrain. After being surrounded by brushy, dusty desert, he’d been surprised at how lush the area around the reservoir is. He wonders if the trees would survive the arid weather if it weren’t for the man-made lake. The locals definitely take full advantage of the area for recreational purposes. He can see spots of color along the banks, and the occasional shout or laugh will float across the water. There’s a blackened circle of stones nearby from previous fires, and Castiel anticipates quite the feast when Dean returns.

Gravel crunches, and Castiel has to tilt his head back almost all the way to smile up at Sam as he approaches. “So…,” Sam says as he settles down on a large rock nearby, all elbows and knees because it’s not really tall enough for his frame. He scoops up a handful of gravel and starts pitching them one by one at the edge of the water. “You and Dean seem to be getting along pretty well.” 

Turning his head against the tree trunk, Castiel raises his eyebrows in question. “Yeah, I think so,” he says. Sam seems casual, but Castiel has learned how to read people and he can tell by the way Sam shuffles his feet and pours the rocks back and forth between his hands that he’s anything but. Castiel wonders if he’s about to get a protective brother speech.

His intuition is right. Sam casts a look at him from under the fringe of his hair, and his eyes are hard with warning. “I think you’re a cool guy, Cas,” he says. 

“Thank you, Sam,” Castiel replies. He smiles lightly over Sam’s use of Dean’s nickname for him. “I sense a ‘but’ though.”

“Yeah, just… Be careful, okay?” There’s an edge to his voice that Castiel suspects Sam uses when he’s in Deputy Mode. “Dean’s… well he’s been through a lot of shit in his life.”

After witnessing Dean’s restless sleep, Castiel has already come to that conclusion on his own. But Sam doesn’t know that. He may not even know that Castiel had spent last night at Dean’s house, although it wouldn’t surprise him if the small town gossip had already reached Sam’s ears. Especially since he’s currently delivering a warning to Castiel.

“I don’t want to see him get hurt,” Sam continues. 

“You think I might hurt him?” Castiel asks. He thinks maybe he should be offended, but really he just finds Sam’s protectiveness over Dean endearing. 

Sam lifts his head and gives Castiel a long, considering look. Castiel meets his gaze headlong, letting Sam take his measure. 

“I think,” Sam says after a moment, “that you wouldn’t do it on purpose.”

Castiel nods slowly, acknowledging Sam’s guess. 

“But, I also think,” Sam adds with a sigh, as he drops his handful of rocks back to the ground between his feet. “That it might be too late at this point.”

Something that feels suspiciously like hope flutters in Castiel’s chest. And he pauses to consider it. What it is that he’s hoping for. Making any kind of decision regarding Dean is probably premature, considering his own host of issues that might set off warning bells for Sam if he knew of even a portion of them. But he hasn’t felt hopeful in… god, years. And he’s been through enough sessions with Rowena to know that he needs to grab onto those positive feelings with both hands and hang onto them. Not the false sense of peace and euphoria brought on by a pill that inevitably wears off and makes him feel worse than before. But true, authentic happiness.

That’s what he hopes for. And for some reason, whatever is happening between him and Dean gives him that feeling. He doesn’t have the greatest track record for making good decisions, but he used to be good at following his instincts. And they’re screaming at him now, telling him that maybe he can start over fresh. If he’s brave enough to listen to them.

Sitting up straight, careful not to jostle his pole so he doesn’t scare away the fish, he fixes Sam with a solemn gaze. “It might be too late for both of us,” he admits. “And if… someone… gives me a good reason to stick around, I’m in a position to stay and see how it goes.”

Sam considers him for a long moment, probably weighing his sincerity. Finally, his shoulders relax and one side of his mouth tilts up. “You’re all right, Cas.”

Anything Castiel might say to that flies right out of his head when Dean’s pole jerks out of the makeshift stand Sam had made for it out of rocks. Sam drops his own pole and lunges for Deans, catching it before it can get dragged any further and lost in the water. 

“Holy shit!” he crows as he jerks back on the pole to set the hook. “This is a big bastard!”

Castiel scrambles to his feet to watch Sam reel in the fish, although he’s careful to keep one eye on his pole and Sam’s abandoned one. The struggle to reel it in isn’t nearly as stressful or as drawn out as what Castiel has dealt with while ocean fishing, but there are a few moments when he’s worried the fragile pole or the line might snap. But soon, Sam is whooping in delight as he lifts a huge, squirming rainbow trout out of the water. Water from its swinging tail splashes Castiel, making him duck away slightly, but he laughs along with Sam over the triumphant catch.

“Alright, that baby’s gonna win me twenty bucks!” Dean says as he returns with a stack of wood in his arms.

“Uh, think again,” Sam says as he crouches down over the fish and removes the hook with a pair of pliers. “This sucker’s mine.”

Dean drops the wood with a loud clatter near the old fire pit. “Hell no, it was my pole!”

“So? _I_ did all the work!” Sam says as he adds the huge fish to the string with the rest that they’d caught during the afternoon. It is indeed much larger than all the others.

“My pole, my fish!” Dean insists as he comes up next to Castiel. He grins in greeting and nudged him in the side with an elbow. “Back me up, Cas.”

“I think we owe Sam twenty dollars, Dean,” Castiel says.

Sam makes a triumphant noise, and Dean gives Castiel the most overblown look of betrayal he’s ever seen. 

“How could you?” Dean demands, pressing a hand over his heart and backing up like he’d taken a blow. “I thought we were friends!”

“We’re friends,” Castiel agrees, grinning widely as that flutter of hope in his chest grows more frantic. “But you’re a cheat.”

Sam cackles. “He’s right!”

“Me? A cheat?” Dean gasps. “How _dare_ you!”

“Oh shut up, _cheater_!” Sam emphasizes his words with a splash of water.

Castiel manages to dance out of the way in time, but Dean takes the brunt of it along his side. His whole body goes stiff, and then the mischievous glitter in his eyes takes on a wicked light. “Oh, it _is on_ , bitch.” 

“Bring it, jerk!” Sam leaps to his feet and takes off at a dead run along the beach with Dean hot on his heels. Castiel laughs as he watches their antics. He’s pretty sure Sam lets Dean catch him, despite the fact that it makes him the victim of one hell of a noogie session. 

Eventually they wrestle out their differences, and they shuffle back to Castiel, arms slung over each other’s shoulders and leaning heavily on each other. They’re both grinning and chuckling, and if they weren’t both such giant men, they’d look like little boys.

As they get closer, they straighten and Castiel notices Dean wince when he has to put all his weight on his own leg. And he’s limping a little bit when he shuffles over to Castiel’s log and flops down on it.

“Are you alright?” Castiel asks as he settles on the log next to him.

Dean massages his leg, just above the knee. It obviously pains him, but his smile is still warm and full of humor. “Titanium knees aren’t great for horsing around,” he says wryly, “but it does the job when a man needs to teach his brother a lesson.”

Sam snorts, and picks up his pole to start reeling in the line. 

Castiel does the same, and they all three re-bait their lines and cast again. But now when they settle down to wait, Dean stays seated on the log with Castiel, leaning into him and telling tall tales about other fish he couldn’t possibly have caught.

Several hours and many more fish later, most of which were Dean’s so they end up with a three-way tie on the bets, Sam gets up to get the fire going and Dean starts gutting the fish they’d kept for dinner. Castiel watches his hands, fascinated by their dexterity. His fingers are strong and agile, wielding the knife with precision and ease. 

Remembering that Dean was in the military makes Castiel’s mind wander to other dangerous objects that Dean has handled. Did those hands hold guns with the same practice and familiarity? Castiel can easily picture Dean dismantling and cleaning a weapon, and the mental image has him shifting into a more comfortable position. 

The sun is fully down, the only light is from their fire and a sliver of moonlight, by the time Dean pulls the cooked fish out of the fire and slides the crisped flesh onto plates. Castiel accepts his serving eagerly, and the first bite makes him moan in delight. “Wow,” he says before taking another, larger bite.

“Right?” Sam says around his own mouthful of fish.

Dean settles in the dirt near Castiel’s knees, balancing his own plate carefully. He just smiles up at Castiel, his eyes shining gold in the firelight.

Seeing Dean at his feet, smiling so proudly over the dinner he’d made for them, it’s hard for Castiel to remember that he has any reason to leave Purgatory at all. “If you keep feeding me, I might have to stick around for a while.” He’s only half teasing.

Dean’s smile turns sly. “Noted,” he says before taking a bite of his own meal.

“Ugh,” Sam grunts from across the fire. “Get a room.”

Castiel and Dean share a look. One filled with amusement, yes, but also with possibility.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The teasing about Dean's driving is a joke I absolutely carried over from the Mass Effect version of this fic, about a vehicle called the Mako that is SUCH A BITCH to drive. It's THE WORST, and I love it as much as I love the Impala XD


	13. Chapter 13

Since he’d taken Castiel fishing, they’ve spent at least part of every day together. And it feels like time is moving too fast, slipping through Dean’s fingers whenever he tries to hang on too tightly to moment. And yet he enjoys the hell out of every second that he gets to spend with Cas.

They’d gone to the drive-in with Jo and Ash, and watched some awful sports movie that neither of them cared for, but at least they’d had a chance to lean into each other while sharing popcorn and soda, their fingers brushing and their eyes meeting with shy amusement every time it happened. They have lunch together at the diner every day, and Castiel usually follows Dean back to the garage to keep him company while he does what work he can on Castiel’s bike until the ordered parts come in. Or while Dean tinkers on the Impala in the afternoons. He even lends a hand sometimes when Dean needs a tool out of reach, or someone behind the wheel to test the ignition.

When Castiel slides into the driver’s seat the first time, Dean ignores the disbelieving looks Jo gives him from across the garage. But he knows she has good reason to be shocked. The Impala is his baby. 

He has thousands of memories of riding in the back seat while his parents sang along to Led Zeppelin in the front. His mother would let him sit in the front on the long trip into the neighboring town to shop at the bigger outlet stores, while Sam dozed off in the baby seat in the back.. He and Sammy had carved their initials into the panel under the back window, there’s a little green army man wedged in the ashtray of one of the back doors, and the heat vents rattle sometimes because of the legos they’d stuck in there. 

He learned to drive in the Impala. Had his first kiss sitting on her hood. And she’d been promised to him as a high school graduation gift if he kept his grades up.

Yeah, he’d lost his parents when her wheels had slipped on a wet road. It had taken him a long time before he could look at her mangled frame without also seeing his parents coffins being lowered into the ground too. But she’s also a connection to his mom and dad, and the easy days of childhood. She’s precious to him, and he can’t wait to finish restoring her. 

And he hasn’t let anyone help him with the work. Not even Jo, who he trusts with anything else that needs to be done in the shop. 

It’s not until he sees Castiel peeking at him from the open door while he turns the key in the ignition that it even hits Dean what he asked Cas to do. 

Castiel raises an eyebrow at him when the engine only clicks. “Again?”

Clearing his throat, and ducking his head under the hood to hide whatever his face is probably doing in response to seeing Castiel sitting in the Impala’s driver seat, Dean lifts a hand, gesturing for him to try again. It takes him longer than it should to find what’s going on because of his whirling thoughts, and what the warm knot of pleasure building up in his chest means. But by the end of the day, he’s got the wiring fixed, and Castiel waiting on his couch for him to get cleaned up so they can finish their Star Wars marathon.

As the opening scroll starts on Empire, Dean glances over at Castiel. He considers the handsome curves and angles of his profile. What would Castiel think if Dean told him about the Impala? How he doesn’t share that piece of himself with anyone else. 

Castiel must feel the weight of his stare, because his eyes turn to Dean’s. His head tilts in question, which makes him look a little bit like a confused bird.

Chuckling, Dean nudges him with his shoulder. “Don’t hog the popcorn.”

Castiel rolls his pretty blue eyes, but he shifts the bowl of popcorn so it balances on both their thighs where they’re pressed together. 

They do that a lot. Sit so close that they’re almost in each other’s laps. Even when they’re not seated, they stay close within each other’s space. They touch, quite a lot actually, mostly brushes and nudges. And sometimes they get caught up in each other’s eyes. Which Dean is keenly aware of, because any time they have an audience for the eye-sex throats get cleared or snickers get badly muffled. And when he catches himself doing it while they’re alone, he imagines leaning in and stealing a kiss. Maybe more than one. 

But Cas is only sticking around until his bike is fixed, and Dean can’t close those last few inches between them with that knowledge haunting the corners of his mind. 

Sammy has been bugging him to ask Castiel to stick around for a while, but the request gets stuck in Dean’s throat every time he considers it. How can he ask Castiel to stay? Castiel has shit going on back home. He doesn’t say anything about it, despite how much they talk every day, but Dean can read between the lines. 

The day the bike’s new chain arrives, Dean sits down heavily on a stool in the garage. He stares at the non-descript package, thumbing over the return address on the label. He’d been able to replace the bent handlebar with one he’d found in the salvage yard, and the damage to the bike’s engine after the chain broke had been a fairly simple repair. Now that he has the new chain, he’ll be able to test the engine and probably be finished with the last few repairs within a few hours at most.

“Oh for fuck’s sake. You’re such a big damn baby.”

Dean keeps his head down so Jo won’t see the heat in his cheeks, and he won’t see in her expression how pathetic she thinks he’s being. “I really like him, Jo,” he says in a monotone.

Jo rolls across the garage on another stool, until their knees bump together. “So ask him to stay, dumbass. Don’t roll your eyes at me.”

It’s too late. Dean adds a glare at her for good measure. “He’s got--”

“If you give me that bullshit about--” she deepens her voice to mock his much deeper baritone, “-- _he’s got a life somewhere else,_ I’ll deck you.” She raises her brows at him when he presses his lips together. “That’s what you were gonna say, right?”

He stubbornly keeps his mouth shut. 

“Ask him. To stay,” she says slowly. “If you don’t think he wants to, you’re not paying attention. But he’s probably waiting for you to invite him. He’s on your turf, and he’s not going to overstay his welcome.”

Frustrated, at Jo, at himself, at life in general, Dean rubs a hand over his face. “What if you’re wrong?”

“I’m not,” Jo says firmly. “But you’ll never know unless you ask.”

And if Castiel says no, then Dean will just have to deal with the embarrassment. And the devastation. 

But he’s already bound for heartache, if he doesn’t ask and Castiel leaves anyway. He’ll always wonder how it could have gone, _and_ he’ll have to watch Castiel leave. 

Sighing, he braces a foot against her stool and pushes her away. “I’ll think about it,” he says. 

Jo uses the heels of her boots as brakes, so she doesn’t go far. “Think damn hard. You’re not the only one who’ll be miserable if he leaves. The rest of us will have to deal with your mopey ass, so think of the big picture.” Having said her piece, she hops up from the stool and goes back to the brake job she’d been working on, leaving him to his thoughts.

He goes to work on Castiel’s bike. Replacing the chain is easy, and takes him hardly any time at all. He makes a few last tweaks to the engine, and then he’s done. Turning his attention to the cosmetic issues, he buffs out as many scratches as he can, although he can’t do much for the paint job without completely re-doing it. But he applies a clear sealant to prevent rust, and polishes the chrome. Castiel hadn’t asked for that, but he’s stalling for time. 

He’s staring at the finished bike, mentally cataloging everything he’s done, and hoping to find one more thing to do, when a cruiser pulls up outside the garage. Dean looks up and isn’t surprised to see his brother unfolding his massing frame from the car. Sam takes his responsibilities very seriously, and checking up on Dean daily is one of them. Dean stopped trying to convince him to give it a rest a long time ago. Not only is Sam the most stubborn person he knows, next to himself, but it’s nice having a chance to talk to the kid every day now that he’s moved out. 

“Hey, Dean,” Sam greets as he comes to stand next to him. “That’s Castiel’s bike?”

Rubbing his hands absently with a rag, Dean nods. “Just finished it. Was planning on calling him in the next few minutes.” 

Sam’s expression falls, and with his perpetually floppy hair he looks like he was just told he can’t have a puppy for his birthday. “Oh… well I’m going to miss having him around so much.” He runs his hand through his hair, but it flops right back down where it was. “Do you think he’ll leave right away?”

“I don’t know.” Dean’s voice is even, hiding the way he aches inside at the thought of Castiel’s imminent departure from his life.

Sam tilts a speculative look at him. “You should invite him to the Roadhouse tonight for karaoke,” he says. “It could be a date.”

Dean blinks. “You think I should ask him on a date when he’s about to leave town?”

“I think he’ll stick around if you give him a sign that you want him to.”

Ah, there it is. Sam’s hopping on the Ask Cas To Stay bandwagon.

Dean’s beginning to think he should listen to everyone, and hop on there with them. “Maybe you’re right.”

Sam scowls at him. “You’re admitting I’m right?” He slaps a palm over Dean’s forehead. “You’re not dying are you?”

Swatting him away, Dean leans away. “I said ‘maybe’, asshat. Back off!” 

But Sam doesn’t back off right away, and they end up embroiled in a very unmanly slap fight for the next few minutes. It’s only when Jo snaps at them to break it up that they settle. Sam doesn’t push the subject any further, and they chat for a few minutes about the repairs Dean made to the bike before he excuses himself to get back to work.

And Dean no longer has an excuse not to call Cas about his bike. 

There’s a phone in the garage, but he doesn’t want to have this conversation in front of Jo, so he heads into the house to use his personal line. His decision is made as soon as the phone in his hand, so he doesn’t hesitate over dialing Castiel’s number.

Castiel picks up after two rings. “Hello?”

“Heya, Cas.” Dean’s proud that none of the turmoil he’s feeling comes through in his voice. “Your bike is fixed. It’s ready when you are.”

“Oh. That’s great.”

Dean might be projecting, but he’s mostly sure that’s disappointment in his voice. “Cas, would you like to go out with me tonight?”

There’s a moment of silence on the line, and Dean chews at his bottom lip while he waits. 

“What did you have in mind?” Castiel finally asks.

“It’s karaoke night at the bar,” Dean says. “And I was hoping you’d like to with me…” his heart kicks up, “On a date.”

There’s another stretch of silence, and the pounding in his chest becomes almost painful. It’d be just his luck if this conversation triggers an anxiety attack. Not being able to see Castiel while he waits for his answer makes things worse, and he wishes he’d gone to the motel to have this conversation in person.

He breaks before the silence does. “Look, it doesn’t have to be a date if you don’t want--”

Castiel cuts him off quickly. “Yes, I… Dean, I would love to go on a date with you.”

Relief floods through Dean, leaving his head spinning and his fingers trembling. “Great!” He lets out a shaky laugh that he’s too happy to be embarrassed over. “Can I pick you up around eight?”

* * *

Damn, how long has it been since Dean’s been on a date? More years than he cares to think about too hard. And it was all while he was living away from Purgatory. There aren’t exactly a lot of options for dating in a small town, and he’d blown through all of them in high school. So it feels strange to be taking someone out in his hometown.

In front of all his friends.

Jo has already been giving him a hard time. As soon as he told her he was taking Cas to the Roadhouse, she’d started asking him if he was going to get “girlied up”, and suggesting the best pants to highlight his “assets”. Dark looks and growled threats have only spurred her on, and ignoring her would be impossible. Even if he lets her off the clock early, he’d have to physically lock her out of the garage to get her to leave him alone, and it’s far too hot to put the doors down as a barrier against her teasing.

He isn’t nervous about going on a date with Castiel, not really. Cas makes him feel comfortable in his own skin, like they’ve known each other for ages instead of the better part of a week. It seems ridiculous if he thinks about it too hard, so he doesn’t, instead focusing on the way Castiel’s nose wrinkling when he grins or how his voice always sounds like he’s been gargling whiskey. And how even though he sometimes stands too close, Dean doesn’t mind sharing his personal space.

What _does_ make him nervous is introducing an almost complete stranger to his motley crew of friends and adopted family. Sure, Castiel has met some of them in passing, but this is a _date._ It’s going to be like bringing Cas home to Thanksgiving dinner on a first date. Who does that to someone they like? But unless he wants to drive into the next town over, which he absolutely does not want, he and Cas aren’t going to be able to avoid being observed by the peanut gallery.

By the time he’s knocking on Castiel’s motel room door, he’s seriously considering asking if Castiel wants to just go back to his place for movies. They’ve finished the good Star Wars movies, but Deans got a Mel Brooks box set, and all the Indiana Jones movies that they could start on.

The door opens and everything Dean was worried about flies right out of his head. 

It’s not the first time he’s seen Castiel today, since he came by the shop earlier to pick up his bike and give it a test drive around the block before Dean would let him settle the account and leave with it. But he’s obviously cleaned up since then. 

Castiel is dressed in a simple black t-shirt, and a pair of dark jeans which are tucked into his boots. He’s clean shaven, and his hair is the kind of messy that gay men would spend an hour in front of a mirror trying to perfect. (Something Dean may or may not know from experience, and he'll take the truth to his grave.) 

Despite the simplicity of his outfit, he looks damn good. And Dean feels better about his own clothing choices of jeans and a dark red button down shirt. Jo’s teasing and prodding must have affected him more than he’d realized, because he’d given serious thought to some of her suggestions of nicer clothing before settling on something nice but comfortable.

“Hello, Dean.” A slow smile of approval spreads across Castiel’s features, crinkling the corners of his eyes as they give Dean a once over. “You look good.”

Dean grins back, helplessly charmed by the compliment. “Cas, are you flirting with me?”

The question earns him a playful eyeroll. “If you have to ask, then I must not be doing it right.” 

He steps out of the room. Dean doesn’t move out of his way. The shrunken space between them makes it more obvious that he’s taller than Castiel by a few inches. And from this close, Dean can see the striations of blue and gray that make Castiel’s eye color seem so intense. 

And right now they’re glinting with mischief. “You’ll have to let me practice.”

The deep timbre of Castiel’s voice, and the warmth of his breath brushing over Dean’s chin sets off _Danger Will Robinson!_ warnings in his libido. Dean’s fingers twitch, and he gives in to the urge to touch, wrapping them gently around Castiel’s wrist. A small tug brings him close enough that their chests brush with each indrawn breath. Watching carefully for any signs of discomfort, Dean slides his hand down and threads their fingers together. His heart thumps like a happy hound dog’s tail when Castiel squeezes his hand.

“Practice away,” Dean says softly. “But I feel like I should warn you that you’re going to have an audience for it tonight, and my friends might make our lives hell.”

“Do you really think I should be worried?” Castiel asks. “I’ve handled Jo and Sam just fine.”

“Yeah, but we weren’t doing this.” Dean tugs Castiel again, enough to bump their chests together. “This is, y’know… kind of official.”

Castiel hums his agreement. “Yes, I suppose it is.”

Dean wants to know if that means Castiel has more concrete plans to stick around, but he doesn’t ask for more right now. Maybe their date will bomb, and he’ll want to get the hell out of here and back to his real life after tonight. So he just tightens his grip on Castiel’s fingers and leads him out into the parking lot where he left the Bronco parked near Castiel’s bike. “One or two at a time, my friends are awesome,” he says as he pulls his keys out and jingles them in his palm. “As a group, they’re a massive pile of crazy.”

Castiel smirks. “I’m sure I can handle it.” 

“Remember you said that when you’re ready to run screaming in horror,” Dean teases. 

“So where is this place?” Castiel asks once they’re on the road.

“Not far,” Dean says. He glances over at Castiel, admiring the way the sinking sun tips his dark hair with shades of red and gold. “You’ll recognize it when you see it though.”

As he pulls into the parking lot of the diner, he grins when he feels the weight of Castiel’s stare. He pulls into a spot, and hops out of the truck. Castiel gets out too, meeting him in front of the Bronco, his lips pursed in a perplexed frown. But he lets Dean take his hand again, and lead him through the parking lot that is much more crowded than usual with the Friday night crowd. 

As they come around the back of the building, Castiel’s steps falter. “Really?”

Dean grins when he turns to see Castiel gawking at the Roadhouse entrance. “Yeah, the place used to be a storage building until Ellen’s husband gutted it out and remodeled. The diner is just the front half of the building, and the back is the bar. They share the kitchen, so if you want something to eat, they’ve got some options from the diner’s menu.” He stops, gently squeezing Castiel’s hand until those pretty blue eyes turn to him in question. “There’s still time to back out, if you’d rather do something else.”

He means backing out on karaoke in front of his friends. But he’s also giving Castiel an out on taking the next step on a relationship. If he wants to drive away from Purgatory, and Dean, without looking back, then it’s better to do it now.

And by the speculation in Castiel’s eyes, he knows the full message is received. But it’s quickly replaced by a soft smile. “We’ve already come all this way. We might as well go inside.” He moves before Dean does, pulling him firmly toward the Roadhouse.

Lightheaded with relief, and something maybe a little more profound, Dean lets himself be led inside.

Music and laughter washes over them as the door opens. A quick glance around reveals that the place is packed with people he knows. Not that it would be different any other day, since it’s a small town and he knows most faces at least in passing. But by the way heads turn, and his friends openly stare, he suspects that they made a special effort to be here tonight. 

Ellen’s behind the bar even though she usually leaves that job to Donnie while she handles the managerial duties. Both Bobby and Rufus are parked on stools, with a bottle of Johnny Walker between them. Benny and Jo are playing pool in the corner, with Ash waiting for his turn to challenge whoever wins the round. Dean even sees Jody at a table with her daughter Alex, and the two extra glasses on the table tell him that Claire and Kaia are probably around somewhere too.

“Dean! Cas!” Even though he towers over everyone in the bar, Sam waves his hand over his head to get their attention. Eileen is perched on a stool next to him, smiling around the straw sticking out of her fruity monstrosity of a drink.

Sighing dramatically, Dean slants a grin at Castiel. “I hope you don’t mind that this is turning into a group thing. Kinda unavoidable around here.”

Castiel’s smile is as warm as his fingers where they’re still entwined with Dean’s. “I find it charming.”

Snorting, Dean starts making his way through the tables to where his brother is still frantically waving at them like an idiot. “You say that _now._ Give it time.”

Castiel’s laugh is almost drowned out by the music and general hubbub of the bar, but Dean still catches it and grins in response. 

Now that they’re approaching, Sam finally stops waving his paw. He envelopes Dean in a hug when he’s close enough, murmuring in his ear. “We’ll try not to embarass you too much.” 

Dean doubts it, but he leans into the hug. 

Sam lets him go and turns to pat Castiel on the shoulder with the enthusiasm of a golden retriever. “It’s good to see you again, Cas.”

“Hello, Sam. Hello, Eileen.” Castiel signs both greetings for Eileen’s benefit. Which Dean finds incredibly sweet. 

Eileen gets by okay reading lips, and relying on Sam or Dean for clarification, but sometimes Dean worries that she regrets moving to their tiny town full of hicks that can’t accommodate her. A few people have made efforts to learn some basic ASL, but it’s slow going when there’s not anywhere for them to go for classes, and not everyone has access to broadband internet and the miracle of YouTube tutorials. So it must be nice for her to communicate more comfortably with Castiel.

She must think the same, because she hops up from her stool and hugs Castiel in greeting. “Hello, Cas,” she says out loud while also using the sign name he’d given her when they met in the laundromat. “Are you excited for karaoke?”

Castiel ducks his head shyly, but keeps signing to make sure she understands him without lip reading. “Well, I’m excited to see other people sing. I don’t want to torture everyone with my voice.”

“Oh come on, you know I won’t be bothered by it,” Eileen teases.

“Har har,” Dean cuts in. “Don’t worry, Cas, nobody’s going to make you sing if you don’t want to.” Although he would love to hear how bad Castiel’s singing voice is. That’s half the fun, especially after everyone’s a few drinks in. 

“You’re going to sing though, right?” Sam asks him.

“Hell yeah,” Dean assures him. “That’s what I’m here for!” He directs a wink at Castiel. “I’ll warn you when to cover your ears so I don’t injure them with my shitty singing.”

Thankfully Sam and Eileen catch onto the joke and don’t contradict him. 

Castiel laughs. “Oh, I think I’ll be fine. And I can’t wait.”

A call from the other end of the bar from Rufus gives Dean an excuse to lead Castiel around the bar, introducing him officially to his friends and extended family. Bobby and Rufus seem to have adopted Castiel as one of their own, greeting him warmly--or as warmly as two crusty old bastards are capable of--and warning him not to let Dean take advantage of him. Out of uniform, Jody is much friendlier with her greetings, and proudly talks up Alex, much to her daughter’s amused chagrin. Claire and Kaia show up eventually, and Castiel makes an instant connection with Claire. They pass snark back and forth like they’ve known each other for years, while Kaia covers her smile with a hand.

Eventually he pulls Castiel away. “Alright, alright ladies. I’d like to have him to myself for as long as possible tonight, before the place fills up.” 

There’s an empty table near the dance floor, but not too close to the speakers on the stage that Dean leads him to. He scoots two chairs right next to each other and pulls Castiel down to sit next to him. “Do you want a beer?” he asks.

When Castiel agrees he holds up two fingers to Ellen, who responds by bringing them some drinks. She brings over a couple glasses, one full of amber liquid and another one filled with a much darker beverage that she gives to Dean. She insists Castiel try his and makes sure he likes it before she pats him on the arm with a motherly smile and heads back to the bar.

“This is delicious,” Castiel says after a few more sips. He lifts a brow and looks at Dean’s much darker beverage curiously. “What kind of beer did you get?”

Instead of answering, Dean offers his glass for Castiel to take a taste. Castiel accepts the invitation, and Dean pays extra close attention to the way his plush lips press against the edge of the glass. He chuckles when Castiel’s eyebrows arch high when he gets his first taste. 

“Rootbeer?” Castiel asks as he passes the glass back.

Dean takes a sip from the same place on the glass where Castiel had, and licks his bottom lip suggestively when Castiel’s eyes follow the motion. He lets out a pleased chuckle when Castiel’s cheeks bloom with color. “Yeah it’s rootbeer,” Dean answers when he’s satisfied that he’s left Castiel flustered.

“If you’re worried about having a drink and then driving, we can walk back to the motel,” Castiel points out. He pauses when he considers what he said. “Or… I mean…if we go back there together...”

Dean bumps their shoulders together, silently reassuring Castiel that he understood the message. They’ll figure out what the night holds for them as they go. “It’s not about driving drunk. I don’t drink alcohol because it messes with my…” he lifts his free hand and twirls his fingers near his temple. 

Luckily Castiel doesn’t ask him to elaborate, because Dean doesn’t want to bring down the mood by admitting that he’s a headcase with a genetic predisposition for alcoholism. He reaches across the narrow space between their chairs, and rests his hand on Dean’s thigh, just above his titanium knee. There’s enough scar tissue around the area that Dean has some numb spots, but he can still sense most of the weight and warmth of Castiel’s touch.

And Dean is suddenly very tempted to tell him. About getting black out drunk before he moved back to Purgatory, because he couldn’t handle the pain or the PTSD symptoms. He’d stopped taking his meds, having at least enough self control to not mix them with booze, but that had only made his downward spiral worse. He thinks about telling Castiel about lashing out while he was drunk, hurting Sam and Jo, and anyone who was brave enough to approach him. And how horrified he’d been later when he learned what he’d done. 

That train of thought is derailed when arms come around his shoulders and someone leans into his back. He goes stiff, his hand clenching too tight on his glass. But then he catches the scent of Jo’s favorite vanilla perfume and he relaxes, leaning into her embrace, and even tilting his cheek up for her to plant a kiss on.

“So guys… you’re finally on a real date, huh?”

By the way Castiel is eyeing Dean, he noticed his reaction. He must realize everything is fine, because he squeezes Dean’s knee gently, and turns a smile in Jo’s direction. “Why? Were there bets going on?”

Jo stands up ramrod straight. She attempts to feign innocence, but she’s crap at it and instead looks like she’s holding in a fart. “What? Of course not.”

Castiel sees through her bad performance too. “How much did you win?”

Knowing she’s beat, Jo gives up on the lie. She grins like a cat with a big fat canary caught under its paws. “A lot. And I owe you a drink for helping me win.”

“There were people betting Cas would say no?” Dean asks.

Jo snorts. “Oh please. We all knew he’d say yes.”

Castiel frowns, and his head does the tilty thing that Dean thinks makes him look like a perturbed owl. “Then what was the bet?”

“It was on who would break down and ask first,” Jo says brightly. She winks and levels a finger in the general direction of Castiel’s nose. “I pegged you for the shy type.”

Somehow Castiel’s expression turns even more owlish. “Shy?”

Just then the lights change, and there’s movement on the small stage nearby. Garth, the only guy in town who seems to know how to run the karaoke equipment, taps on the mic, making it squeal obnoxiously before announcing that the first song will be for Miss Jo Harvelle.

“Looks like that’s my cue!” Jo takes off for the stage.

Castiel pouts at her retreating back. “I am not shy.”

Chuckling, Dean leans in and drapes his arm over the back of Castiel’s chair. He clinks his glass against Castiel’s. “And yet she won the bet.”

He thinks the pout is even cuter when it’s directed at him.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my bestie for Jupiter_James for validating me when I waffled over this chapter, and to Dannie and the writer-cafe crew on the Profound Bond Discord for helping me find some of the words I needed. Love y'all! <3

Castiel watches Jo’s slim figure as she struts toward the stage, vaguely pondering that she’s a beautiful young woman and under other circumstances he might have flirted with her that first day they met in the diner. But his attention had been captured by Dean the moment he’d walked in the door. Lured in like a moth to a flame, or Icarus to the sun.

He only hopes that his choice to fly closer doesn’t end in a sudden plummet to his doom.

Turning his attention to the man next to him, Castiel thinks the danger is well worth the risk. Dean is scowling after Jo, dimples on full display. Castiel wants to close the space between them and kiss those dimples away, until Dean is smiling and kissing him back.

“I was planning on asking you out today,” he says instead. “But you beat me to it.”

The dimples disappear, and Dean gives him a pleased look. “Really?”

Bracing his elbow on the table, Castiel crooks a finger. Dean obeys the silent order to lean in, bringing with him the aroma of tangy citrus soap and a hint of car oil to tease Castiel’s senses. Castiel speaks just loud enough to be heard over Jo singing her heart out to a Patsy Cline tune. “I’ve really enjoyed the time we’ve spent together this week,” he says. “And I can’t seem to get enough of you.”

Around them, everyone’s attention is on the stage, cheering or shouting out teasing comments while Jo continues her performance. Even though the tables are mostly full, and they’re surrounded by what Castiel assumes is most of Dean’s acquaintances and friends, the dimmed lights and the lack of attention being paid to them creates the illusion that Castiel and Dean are alone in the room. 

Dean’s tongue slips out to dampen his lower lip before he nibbles at the inner edge, tempting Castiel more than ever to test the softness of his mouth. “You can have more of me if you want,” he says, pitched so only Castiel can hear.

Closing his eyes against the handsome man in front of him, Castiel scrambles for self control. His willpower is stretched ribbon thin, and it takes everything in him to not grab Dean and ravish him right there on the table. After a breath to steel himself against Dean’s beauty, he opens his eyes to find Dean watching him intently. “I want more than a fling,” he admits. “And I don’t want you to think I take things like this lightly.”

Dean’s expression is unreadable, but a stillness falls over him. His eyes are dark in the shadowed bar, making him look like a dangerous creature. Maybe Castiel should be wary, but he waits for Dean’s reaction with anticipation instead of fear. 

“Does this mean you’re thinking of sticking around for a while?”

In the last week, Castiel has done a lot of soul searching. He isn’t ready to go back to Boston. It doesn’t feel like home anymore, and it hasn’t for a long time. He’d left his problems behind, but he’s been searching for something. A new home. A new sense of self. A light in the yawning empty void his life has become. 

The pinch of homesickness around his heart follows him everywhere. He found no ease from it while visiting his parents, or the orchard where they’d built their life after his dad retired from the force. His home is no longer with them, and it certainly isn’t with Hannah. 

But here in Purgatory, the longing for a place to belong seems to be fading. And he’d like to think that’s a sign of good things to come, if he stays.

Even with all the time he’s spent with Dean, he’s had a lot of time to himself. He’d spent it learning the town, and meeting new people. Sam and Eileen had invited him to dinner one night, and Castiel felt like they were long lost friends. He’s had conversations with Ash over coffee, and chatted with Ellen and Benny while he waited for his breakfast. He’s making friends here. And the tentative beginnings of a new life.

As much as he misses his friends and family back in Boston, he thinks he’ll miss Purgatory and its inhabitants just as much if he leaves. 

And then there’s Dean....

Somehow he might have stumbled across a light in the wilderness. A candle in a window, guiding him to a new home. If he’s brave enough to follow it.

“I like it here, and I want to stay,” he finally answers. “And I’d very much like to explore what’s happening between us.”

Dean’s stare intensifies, and he shifts in his seat. Castiel’s breath hitches in anticipation.

“I’m going to get pregnant just watching you two. The eye sex is intense,” Jo says as she plops down in the extra chair at their table, popping the bubble of tension around them. Her eyes twinkle at them as she takes a long drink from a long necked beer bottle.

Due to how close they were sitting, Castiel can see how Dean flinches at Jo’s sudden presence. Dean’s dimples return when he directs a glare at Jo. “We’re having a private conversation, Johanna Beth.”

Ash sits down in the chair next to Jo, kicking it back to balance on two legs. “Dude, you picked a bad place for it,” he says. 

“He’s right,” Benny says as he pulls up an extra chair. “Can’t exactly get privacy sittin’ in the middle of a crowded bar.”

Sighing, Dean leans back in his chair. He casts a wry smile at Castiel. “The peanut gallery ain’t wrong.”

Castiel presses his knee against Dean’s under the table. A silent assurance that he’s not upset, and he hopes they can pick up where they left off later.

“So, Castiel,” Jo reaches for the bowl of peanuts on the table and crunches the shell in her fist before popping the nuts into her mouth. “You gonna sing tonight?”

“Uh, probably not,” he says with a sheepish smile. “Maybe next time.”

All three of their uninvited table mates perk up in their seats, but it’s Benny that speaks. “Does that mean there’s gonna be a next time?”

Castiel casts a glance at Dean. “I’m considering it,” he answers vaguely. Dean’s knee presses back against Castiel’s, maybe because he’s hoping the answer will be a more definite yes. “I guess it depends on what kind of competition I’m looking at. I’m not a great singer, and I might avoid karaoke night just to avoid embarrassing myself.”

A slow smile spreads across Dean’s features. Castiel’s message appears to have been received.

Castiel is going to stay.

Their friends catch on too. Benny smiles in approval, while Jo and Ash both let out an enthusiastic whoop and high five each other. Benny smacks Ash lightly on the arm. “You owe me twenty bucks, brother.”

“Oh god,” Dean groans. “Another bet?”

The ruckus at their table attracts more attention, and suddenly Sam is looming over him with Eileen tucked under his arm. “Which bet, and who’s winning?”

“Benny and Ash had money on whether or not Cas would be staying,” Dean grumbles sullenly, while also signing for Eileen’s benefit.

“Oh, I’m in on that one too,” Eileen pipes up. “Pay up, Ash!”

“I hate all of you!” Dean grouches as money transfers between hands.

The long-suffering look he directs at Castiel is so adorable, that Castiel chuckles and leans in closer. “We should make them buy us drinks.”

Dean brightens, and turns to his friends and family to demand “You assholes better use all that money to keep our drinks filled!”

“Get ‘em yourself, cowboy,” Jo counters. But she does swipe the money out of Ash’s hand, ignoring his yelp of indignation and passing it over to Dean. She pats him gently on the shoulder before giving him a shove that would knock a lesser man out of his chair. “And take your time about it.”

Dean’s glare intensifies, but he gets up taking Castiel’s empty glass which he swings around in a circle, finger held out in warning, like he’s scolding a group of children. “Be nice, while I’m gone.” The finger swings back to Jo specifically. “That goes double for you.”

Castiel laughs at her sputtering protests. Dean’s stern look doesn’t ease, but he winks at Castiel as he turns away from the group and walks away. It’s such a little thing, but it warms Castiel, making him feel like he and Dean are a team. And yet at the same time, Dean feels comfortable leaving him alone with the “peanut gallery”. Like he’s part of the group, and no longer an outsider.

As soon as he’s gone, Jo leans forward eagerly. Her impish grin is Castiel’s only warning that she’s about to disobey Dean’s direct order.

“So, Cas. Are you a top, or a bottom?”

“Jo!” Sam snaps, although he seems more shocked than angry.

“What?” She asks, completely unrepentant. “It’s a legitimate question!”

“Not for you!” Sam argues. 

Jo waves him away, completely undeterred. “If the sex isn’t going to be good, they might as well give up before they get started.”

Castiel thinks he should probably be embarrassed, but Jo is so over the top with her nosiness that he can only laugh in delight. “Jo, I think you’d probably get along with my partner Charlie,” he says. He can just imagine Charlie asking the same question, although she probably would have searched for the information somewhere in his porn history first.

“Wait, what?” Benny drawls, something dangerous glinting in his eyes. “Ain’t you single?”

Before Castiel can clarify, Sam holds out a hand as if to keep Benny in his seat. “That’s not what he means,” he says. “Cas is a cop.”

“A detective,” Castiel corrects. The threatening aura around Benny fades as he leans back in his seat, and Castiel wonders if Sam just saved him a sore jaw. He smiles at Benny to let him know there’s no hard feelings. “Kind of,” he continues. “I’m technically unemployed at the moment.”

“Oh yeah? Where’s all your money coming from?” Jo gestures at him with her beer bottle. “I know Dean didn’t charge you as much as most places would have, but fixing your bike still wasn’t cheap.”

“Insurance, Jo,” Castiel says dryly. “And I had a pretty big savings account when I took my leave.” 

It’s not the full truth, but he doesn’t know them well enough to share that he doesn’t have to worry about money. He comes from a long line of cops, but his family has a successful business on the side. Growing up as a rich kid hadn’t made him very many friends, and as an adult it gets him a lot of ribbing from co-workers who don’t understand why he works when he doesn’t need to. He doesn’t want the contents of his bank account to cause that behavior to start up in his new friends too. 

“Damn, they must pay really well up in Boston,” Sam says.

“Oh shut up,” Jo snarks. “You’re not poor.”

They start up what sounds like a good natured argument, and Castiel is glad to have the attention off himself for a few minutes. Dean had warned him that they’d probably have their date invaded, and he’s starting to see why now. Not that he minds too much, since he is enjoying their company. But he wonders how much alone time he’ll actually get to spend with Dean.

There’s a lull in the music followed by applause for the current singer on stage as they finish up. Then Sam’s name is called. “My turn! I’ll catch you losers later!” he exclaims. He signs something very sweet to Eileen that makes Castiel put a hand over his smile, then kisses the top of her head before bounding up on the stage. 

Jo flips him off as he leaves.

Eileen immediately gets up to follow Sam, grinning. “I can’t hear him, but it’s so much fun to watch him from up close. See you later!” 

As the next song starts, Dean reappears with the necks of several beer bottles held between his fingers. He passes them out, and reclaims his seat next to Castiel, leaning in until their shoulders press together. “What did I miss?”

“We’re trying to find out if Castiel is a top or a bottom.” Jo grins wickedly at Castiel.

He’d thought she let it go, so her announcement shocks a laugh out of Castiel, but Dean groans and covers his eyes. “Jesus, Jo!”

Benny must decide to take pity on them, because he stands and pulls Ash and Jo out of their seats. “We’re going to go sign up for the singing. You boys have fun.”

It’s obvious Jo isn’t ready to leave the table, but she’s no match for Benny as he herds her away.

“Sorry about that,” Dean says, rolling his eyes upward in supplication. “She’s far too invested in my sex life.”

Castiel chuckles warmly. “I don’t mind.” Something devilish grips him suddenly, and he lifts his beer. “And I’m mostly a top, but I’m verse,” he says just before touching the rim to his lips and taking a deep, satisfying swig.

Almost as satisfying as the way Dean’s eyes pop wide.

* * *

Dean _shivers_. He can and absolutely will switch, but he loves being filled. The idea of Castiel being inside him sends his heart galloping, and he’s more than half tempted to drag Castiel out of there and beg for a demonstration.

Oh hell… would Castiel want to hear him beg? He hopes so, because he may not be able to help it.

And Castiel notices his reaction. His eyes practically smoulder, and oh Jesus, now Dean’s thinking words like _smoulder_. Jo has been teasing him about “eye-fucking” all week, and right now Dean can _feel_ it in the way Castiel is looking at him. 

If Castiel fucks with even a fraction of the intensity of his stare, Dean’s probably going to be more bow-legged than usual. Which will be _awesome._

He opens his mouth to suggest they get out of there, but a hand comes down on his shoulder, cutting him off. “You boys look like you’re having a good time,” Jody says as she lowers herself into the chair that Sam had vacated earlier. Her eyes twinkle merrily as she sips at her beer. “Sorry for interrupting whatever’s going on here, but I had to escape the girls.”

Dean struggles to hold in a sigh. It’s times like these, he misses living in a city where there are places to take a date where nobody knows him. “I’ll bet. That’s a lot of trouble sitting at one table.”

“Ha!” Jody barks incredulously. “I’d say that’s a pot calling the kettles black.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dean protests. A lie. He knows exactly what she’s talking about, and wishes she’d keep her mouth shut and stop embarrassing him in front of Castiel.

“Dean,” Castiel asks, very seriously, as Sam warbles through an out of tune version of what might be a Celine Dion song. “Are you a troublemaker?”

Luckily Jody takes pity on him. She just hums mysteriously and sips at her drink. 

But Castiel is still watching him curiously, and Dean caves with a blustering sigh. “I got arrested when I was seventeen,” he grumbles.

“For arson,” Jody adds when he doesn’t elaborate. “Arrested him myself.”

Dean splutters indignantly. “It was an accident!” 

“We talkin’ about the time you burned down half of my salvage yard?” Bobby says as he comes up behind Jody and leans his weight on the back of her chair. “That was an Independance Day to remember.”

“Sam and I had it put out before it reached the yard!”

“We talkin’ about the time he burned your place down?” Rufus asks as he joins them. He shakes his head at Dean with solemn disapproval. “Dumb kids, settin’ off fireworks around that much dry scrub. Your daddy should’a taught you better, boy.”

“He was dead, and I was living with you two old codgers,” Dean points out. “Maybe you should have let me take Sam to the city fireworks display.”

Bobby takes off his dirty blue trucker hat and swats at Dean with it. “Stop letting him rile you up, idjit. You know we weren’t mad at you.” He casts a glare at Rufus when the man lets out a snort of dissent. 

“You still let me and Sam sit in a cell for a couple hours.”

“Don’t exaggerate, it was only an hour,” Bobby says with a chuckle. “But you sure learned your lesson, didn’t you?”

Not well enough. He’d gone off to the military where he started more fires than he could ever put out. But no one in Purgatory knows about any of that, so he doesn’t argue the point. He thinks Bobby might have an idea, since he’d also served in the military, but so far he’s respected Dean’s wishes to keep those stories to himself. “Yeah yeah, whatever.”

“I ended up getting charges pressed against the guy who sold him the fireworks,” Jody tells Castiel. “Since Dean was a minor and shouldn’t have gotten his hands on them in the first place.”

“I had a fake ID,” Dean adds, and then grins. “But it was for a Bikini Inspector.”

Castiel throws his head back on a laugh, and Dean’s no longer irritated that his dirty laundry is being dragged out in the open. Not if it lets him see Castiel in an unguarded moment of joy. Dean wants to catalogue every version of his laughter, from the breathy huffs to the belly laughs. He wants to witness all the different ways Castiel smiles, from the happy crinkles around his eyes to the gummy grins.

When did he get so fucking sappy? 

He thinks maybe he should be worried that Castiel makes him simultaneously feel like a horny teenage boy that just discovered the joys of his own hand, and a middleschool girl that just discovered that boys can be _cute._

Rufus makes a sound of disgust in his throat. “Watching these damn kids make googly eyes at each other is going to make me sicker than a three day bender on cheap rotgut.” His gruff tone is belied by the merry twinkle in his eyes, and the wink he directs at Dean. “Let’s get home, Bobby.”

“Are you guys okay to drive?” Jody asks.

Rufus rounds on her, offended. “You sayin’ we can’t hold our liquor?” 

“We’re just fine, Jody,” Bobby says soothingly, as he pats Rufus on the chest and starts herding him away. “Have a good night, boys.”

Jody squints after them, and then rises to her feet. “I’m just going to make sure they’re really okay to drive,” she says, without even a glance in Dean and Castiel’s direction. 

And then they’re blessedly alone. It probably won’t last long, but Dean’s going to enjoy as much of it as he can.

Castiel is staring toward the exit. “Are Bobby and Rufus a couple?”

And now it’s Dean’s turn to bark out a laugh. A glance at Castiel’s confused squint sets him off again, and he makes a valiant attempt to reign it in, wiping dampness from the corners of his eyes until he manages to stifle the last of his giggles. “Sorry, sorry,” he wheezes. “It’s just damn funny to me that nobody realized it for _years_ , and you’ve been here a few days and you picked right up on it.”

Castiel’s lips form a soft oh of surprise, and he winces. “Are they not out? Should I not say anything?”

It’s such a sweet and kindhearted question, that Dean wants to hug him. The urge is impossible to contain completely, and he slips an arm around Castiel’s shoulders, squeezing him in a one armed hug. Which earns him a pleased smile and a blush, _and_ the benefit of getting to feel just how wide and strong Castiel’s shoulders are. 

“Don’t worry, they’re not hiding anything,” Dean assures him. “They just never made an announcement, and assumed everyone would figure it out when they moved in together.”

“No one did?” Castiel asks.

“I mean, me and Sam did when we moved in with them after--” he cuts off and clears his throat. More than half his life lived without them, and it still sucks to talk about his parents’ deaths. 

Castiel’s hand comes to rest again on his thigh, its warm weight a comfort. “How did you end up with them? Are they family?”

Thankful for the redirect, Dean hums his agreement. “Not by blood, but Bobby and my dad served in the military together, and he’s our godfather. Bobby and Rufus have been friends forever, although they’re squirrelly about how they met, and I only know that it was around the time their wives died. I think they might have been in a support group together, but neither of them’ll admit it.” Dean grins. “I was so afraid they’d get pissed when they found out I was into guys, I kept it a secret at first. Then one day we were all sitting around having breakfast, everyone’s nose in a book or a newspaper except me because I’m not a fuckin’ nerd--”

Castiel rolls his eyes. “Star Trek pajamas.”

Dean laughs. “Shut up, you know what I mean. Anyway, I’m minding my own business and out of nowhere Bobby says--” he lowers his voice, imitating Bobby’s rough drawl, “--‘you know you can bring that Benny boy around for dinner if you want’. Next thing I know, Sam’s telling me he’ll still love me if I’m gay, and Bobby and Rufus are talking about their own relationship… it was like a goddamn intervention.”

“You dated Benny?” Castiel asks with a frown.

“That’s all you got from that story?” Dean grins. Castiel has no reason to be jealous, but if he is, Dean thinks it’s kinda hot.

Castiel’s eyes go wide and earnest. “Oh no, I understand that you were very lucky to have such a supportive family,” He says. “And I’m glad you had good models for queer relationships to look up to.” He leans into Dean’s side, and his eyes are warm with something Dean isn’t ready to define yet, but echoes something deep inside him. “You have a lot of people in your life who care about you, and want to see you happy.”

Heat rises in Dean’s cheeks, and he shifts uncomfortably. “Yeah… I guess.” 

He’s gathered most of Purgatory’s misfits around him as friends and family, and they all tend to band together in one big protective shield against the rest of the world. He hasn’t thought too hard on it, but if pressed he’d say that’s why he feels safe here and why he needed to return home for his mental health.

Castiel leans in close again, and Dean can feel the warmth of his breath against his cheek. He smells like sandalwood and beer, and it makes Dean a little dizzy. “But I’m also a little jealous about Benny.”

There’s a possessive ring to his words that sends another gentle shudder through Dean’s body. His mouth is suddenly dry as the desert surrounding Purgatory. He lifts his drink to his lips, only to find it empty. Damn.

“Time for another?” Castiel gestures at the empty bottle. But his eyes stay on Dean, dark with the knowledge that he’s definitely ruffled Dean’s feathers.

He has to clear his throat before he can croak out a weak “yeah.”

“I’ll get it this time,” Castiel says as he pulls out from under Dean’s arm and stands. He rests his palm, large and warm, on the back of Dean’s neck. “I’ll be right back.”

Dean leans into his touch, and Castiel’s fingers slide over his warm skin just before he turns away to go to the bar.

He watches Castiel until he disappears amid the milling crowd, and then he stares down at the empty bottle in his hand, turning it and picking at the handwritten label with his thumbnails. There’s a goofy grin playing across his lips, but he can’t stop it. He has a much better buzz from hanging out with Castiel than he’s ever gotten from a beer.

He’s startled out of his reverie when Sam plops down in the chair he’d vacated earlier. “You’re up!” he says breathlessly. Eileen leans over his shoulders, grinning far too smugly for comfort.

Dean frowns at them. “I didn’t sign up yet.”

Eileen does a little hop, and leans more of her weight on Sam until he’s almost holding her up. They both look so pleased with themselves, that it can only mean trouble for Dean. “We got you covered!”

Oh shit. He’s definitely in trouble.


	15. Chapter 15

Castiel waits patiently at the bar until Ellen catches sight of him. She smiles warmly, throwing a towel over her shoulder as she approaches him. 

“Hey there, sweetie,” she greets. “You having fun tonight, or are you ready to run screaming yet?”

Laughing, Castiel shakes his head. “Purgatory will have to try a lot harder to drive me away.”

Her eyes go soft, and she leans her arms on the glossy bar. “The date’s going that good, huh?”

Heat suffuses his cheeks, and he ducks his head to look down at the empty bottles he’d placed on the bar, turning one in a circle. “I think so.”

The soft flick of the towel against his fingers brings his head back up and Ellen winks at him. “I’m glad to hear it. For you and for Dean.” She nods at the bottles. “Need some refills?”

“Yes, please,” he says, grateful to be let off the hook. “I’ve had enough alcohol though, and I’d like a rootbeer too.”

“You got it.” Ellen removes the empties, and putters around under the bar to grab fresh ones. She removes the caps, and passes them to him across the bar. Waving away his offer for cash she says “it’s on Dean’s tab, which he’s paying for with the betting pool.”

The bottles are cold and damp with condensation as he accepts them. He takes a sip from one, and hums in appreciation for the rich flavor. “This is very good. Dean says you brew it yourself?”

Ellen nods and starts wiping down the bar, even though it looks spotless. “Yeah, although technically Ash does most of the work for me. I’m an old lady, and I can’t run everything on my own you know.”

He gives her a skeptical look. “I think _you_ could.”

She chuckles and swats at him with the towel again. “It’s more fun to have other people do it for me.” She nods at the bottles in his hands and smiles fondly. “That was actually Dean’s idea. He bought me a little rootbeer kit for Christmas one year when he was a kid, and I had so much fun with it that I made it part of the business.”

“Well it seems to be his favorite thing, since he keeps it in his house too.”

Ellen’s smile turns a little sad. “He’s always loved it. And he was such a good kid, staying out of the alcohol when most kids in small towns like these turn to beer much younger than they should, ‘cause they’re bored.”

“Bobby and Jody were just trying to convince me he was a handful when he was younger,” Castiel says.

She snorts. “No worse than any other bored kid. And a lot better’n most. Especially when he lost his--” she cuts off abruptly. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be airing his dirty laundry.”

“I know about his parents,” Castiel says. “It must have been tough.”

She sighs. “Yeah, it was. It was rough on both of ‘em, and Dean took on more than he had to, convinced he had to be Sam’s sole caretaker. Took a while to convince that boy that he didn’t have to.”

Somehow Castiel doesn’t think they did. He doesn’t have any concrete evidence, but he’s seen the way Dean acts around Sam. Castiel doesn’t have any siblings of his own, but he’s seen the way his father acts towards his uncles, and he’s seen the same protective glint in his eyes. 

His thoughts are interrupted by a cheer going up behind him, and he turns to see that Dean is stepping up onto the stage. His mouth drops open in surprise, even though Dean had mentioned earlier in the night that he’d sign up for the singing. But other than getting drinks, Dean had been at his side all night and hadn’t given any indication that he was planning on taking his turn on stage.

“Oh boy,” Ellen says behind him. “You’re in for a real treat.”

Up on the stage, Dean looks at the karaoke screen in front of him, and maybe it’s the colored lighting, but he seems to flush bright red. He looks out at the audience cheering and whistling, and his gaze finds Castiel at the bar. Smiling almost shyly, Dean gives a little nod of hello.

When the music starts, Castiel’s eyes widen even further when he recognizes the song. And he wonders if Dean chose it, or if someone else signed him up as a way to tease them both.

Dean leans into the microphone, and sings.

_The world was on fire and no one could save me but you.  
It’s strange what desire will make foolish people do.  
  
  
_

Castiel swallows harshly, and takes a deep drink from one of the bottles in his hand.

_I never dreamed that I’d meet somebody like you.  
And I never dreamed that I’d meet somebody like you._

Dean’s voice is pure sex. A rumbling baritone that Castiel can feel all the way to his bones. He closes his eyes as he croons the song’s chorus, but on the next verse his eyes open and fix on Castiel with a burning intensity.

_What a wicked game you play, to make me feel this way.  
What a wicked thing to do, to let me dream of you._

Goosebumps rise up over Castiel’s skin, even as he feels like he’s burning up from the inside. Does Dean dream of him? Are they anywhere near as wicked as Castiel’s own?

The song goes on, and Dean doesn’t look away. The lyrics are half hopeful, half fearful, and Castiel can see all of that in his eyes. The yearning for a connection, and the need to put up walls against the possibility of pain and rejection.

A large shape sidles up to him, and Sam leans down to speak to him. “You’re welcome.”

Castiel doesn’t look away from Dean. He’s held captive by the man’s stage presence. “I take it you’re responsible for this?”

“Every first date needs a good serenade,” Sam says. And then he lets out a gusting sigh. “He doesn’t sing for us as often as he used to.”

That revelation is enough to get Castiel’s attention, but he only casts Sam a brief glance of surprise. He’d much rather continue watching Dean, even if the way Dean’s fingers are caressing the microphone is giving him ideas that make him hope the shadows are enough to hide his reaction. “Since he came home from the military?” he guesses.

He catches Sam’s nod from the corner of his vision. “Something happened to him while he was gone. Something broke in him. He’s healing, but it’s slow.”

“He hasn’t told you anything at all?” Castiel asks.

“Only things he probably thinks I want to hear,” Sam says. “I wish he’d tell me the truth.”

Castiel watches the man up on stage, sees all the feeling he pours into the lyrics as the song wraps up. He’d already guessed that Dean carried the weight of trauma on his shoulders, a weight that he doesn’t seem eager to share. Which Castiel can understand, probably better than anyone else in Dean’s life. 

He wonders if maybe someday Dean would feel comfortable sharing those things with Castiel. If they can reach that level of intimacy, Castiel knows he’ll need to speak about his own trauma, and the baggage he’s been pulling behind his motorcycle since he left home. It will have to be a two way street.

He’s surprised to realize that he’s not bothered by that possible future, and is in fact looking forward to it.

* * *

The roar of the crowd is deafening as Dean croons out the last few words of the song, drowning out the instrumentals as the little rectangles on the screen count out the last measures of the song.. 

The place is packed, even for a Friday night, and with the shitty excuse for stage lights that Ellen rigged up, all Dean can see is a mass of darkly moving shapes. It makes his senses tingle uncomfortably, but this ain’t his first rodeo and he’s learned that keeping his eyes glued to the lyrics on the view screen will keep the anxiety at bay. 

But this time, he’d found another focus. There’s light around the bar, and Dean can see Castiel there watching him with his jaw sagging. Dean would have laughed at his reaction if he weren’t busy belting out the song some asshole signed up for him. (His money is on Jo, but he wouldn’t put it past Sam either.) As the song comes to an end, and Dean straightens away from the microphone, a delighted smile spreads across Castiel’s face. And Dean wants nothing more than to press kisses against it.

When he steps off the little stage, and the lights are no longer blinding him, his group of friends come into view. They’re the loudest bunch in the place, especially with the way Jo and Ash are catcalling him. He passes their table with a middle finger held high, and Jo boos loudly in his wake.

He slips through the crowd, nodding or clapping people on the shoulder when they greet him, but he doesn’t allow himself to be waylaid. Ignoring his brother’s presence, along with his stupid grin, Dean sidles up to Castiel, when someone else abandons their spot at the bar with their drinks in hand.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel says, leaning into him slightly when Dean squeezes into his personal space. They’re close enough that he has to tip his head up to meet Dean’s gaze, and his big blue eyes are crinkled at the corners with his smile.

It’s tempting to lean in and kiss him, but he’s not going to do that with Sam watching them like a hawk looking for scraps of rumors to take back to his nest of idiot baby hawks. Signing Dean up for that specific song was a jerk move, and he counts it as the shot that cancels their prank war truce. Revenge will be sweet.

“So that wasn’t what I had planned,” Dean says. He doesn’t acknowledge Sam’s snicker, keeping his attention on the only person in the room that matters right now. “But what did you think? I didn’t make a fool of myself, did I?”

Sam coughs to cover a bigger laugh, and Dean starts planning how he’s going to sneak into his house to swap out his shampoo with Nair. 

Castiel doesn’t pay Sam any mind, although his eyes do sparkle with mirth. “I’m trying to come up with something a little more eloquent than ‘wow’.” He holds up one of the bottles in his hand, offering it to Dean.

Smirking, Dean accepts the bottle and takes a sip, pleased at the rich flavor of Ellen’s home brewed rootbeer. “Is that a good ‘wow’, or a bad ‘wow’?” he asks after lowering the bottle. He licks his lips, and Castiel’s eyes follow the movement with a hungry expression.

This time when Sam coughs, it’s from embarrassment, which serves him fuckin’ right as far as Dean is concerned. “Gonna go put my name back on the list. You guys have fun.”

A cheer swells around them as another person takes the stage, and Castiel leans in close so he can be heard over the ruckus. “Definitely good,” he says, just loud enough for Dean’s ears. His breath is warm and sweet, and makes Dean want to dip his head down and see if he tastes the same. “Do you do private shows?”

A rush of lust coils low in Dean’s belly. He could do so much more for Castiel than sing to him in private. It would still involve him raising his voice, but he doubts that’s what Castiel has in mind. 

Or maybe he does. Castiel’s mouth quirks up in a lopsided smile, and his eyes are dark with purpose.

“I might be able to be talked into it,” Dean murmurs.

“Oh just kiss already!

Every muscle in Dean’s body locks up in an effort not to lash out. He turns just enough to direct a freezing glare at Jo, who grins unrepentantly as she slips into the space Sam had abandoned. She’s like a sister to him, but one of these days he’s going to commit murder if she doesn’t stop startling him. And not on accident either. No, it’ll be premeditated, in cold blood.

She leans her elbows back on the bar, and grins cheekily. 

Castiel’s hand runs gently over Dean’s side, and he nearly melts into the touch. He can’t remember the last time someone has done more than shake his hand or slap him on the shoulder. The occasional hug from Ellen, or Eileen isn’t the same either. The soft petting against his ribs fills something inside him that he hadn’t even realized was empty, and he’s just now realizing that he’s starving for the simple, affectionate touch.

“Maybe after a few more drinks,” Castiel says to Jo, even as he continues to soothe Dean with the stroke of his palm. 

Dean shifts slightly, lifting his arm to brace it on the bar behind Castiel, giving him more room to continue his petting. 

Straightening, Jo turns to face the bar and flag down Donnie, who’s taken over his usual bartending duties again. Of course Jo waited to cause trouble when Ellen isn’t around. She’s a brat, but she’s not an idiot. “In that case,” she chirps, “the next round’s on me!”

“If you’re buying, I won’t turn it down. But I’m good for the moment,” Castiel says, and brandishes his mostly full drink. His smiling eyes flick to Dean as he lifts the bottle to take another sip.

He’s jealous of a damn glass bottle. And by the look Castiel is giving him, it’s written all over his face.

“Is that how it works?” he finds himself asking. “I need to get you drunk for a kiss?”

* * *

Aware that Jo is watching intently, but isn’t the only member of their audience, Castiel lowers his drink. Dean’s smile is flirty, teasing. But there’s a shadow of uncertainty in his eyes. 

“No,” he says softly, maybe too low to be heard over the music pounding from the speakers. He reaches up with his free hand, slipping it behind Dean’s neck, teasing the short hairs at the base of his skull with his thumb. A quiver runs through the taller man, and Dean sways closer, lips parted on a tiny gasp at the unexpected touch. Castiel wants to taste those lips. Wants to lick droplets of rootbeer from them before delving deeper. 

This isn’t the place for it. Not with so little privacy. But a hunger burns inside his chest, more pinching than any urge he’s ever had to pop a pill. He only has so much willpower, and spending time with Dean has been grinding it down all week.

“You just have to ask,” he says, with enough volume to be heard over the music.

“Cas,” Dean breathes.

Castiel doesn’t quite hear him, but they’re so close now that he feels the word against his mouth. He answers the question in Dean’s eyes by lifting his chin to close the final inches between them. The kiss is simple, just a gentle press of lips, but it’s enough for Castiel to learn that Dean’s mouth is just as soft and sweet as it looks. 

A whoop from behind him is an abrupt reminder that they’re not alone, even though everything and everyone around them seems distant, unimportant. He ends the kiss reluctantly, pulling back slowly, but only enough to look up into Dean's dark, heavy lidded eyes. They’re full of simmering heat, sending a ripple of want through Castiel’s body. 

* * *

When Castiel releases him, Dean’s eyelids flutter for a moment before they lift. Castiel looks just as affected by the kiss as Dean feels, his eyes wide with wonder. And it makes Dean want to kiss him again. And again, and again, and not just on the mouth, although it would be gratifying to stay occupied there for quite a while. Castiel’s lips are smooth and dry, and Dean wants to see them damp and swollen, wants to test them with his teeth, sooth them with his tongue…

“Take him home!” Jo hollers. Catcalls and whistles fill the space around them.

Straightening, Dean turns an acid glare on their audience. Not a single person looks intimidated, especially Jo. 

That’s the problem with friends, he thinks irritably. They know he isn’t going to deliver on the silent promise of violence. For the briefest moment he misses being in the military where people jumped to obey his orders. His squad eventually figured out his bark was harsher than his bite, but at least they’d still followed orders and backed off at any hint of his scowls.

“I was gonna suggest we get out of here,” Dean says as he turns back to Castiel. “But if we leave now, they’re all going to get ideas.”

“Would that bother you?” Castiel asks. He clears his throat and looks down at the bottle in his hand. The fingers of his other hand curl into a fist against Dean’s neck, as if he’s not sure he should remove his touch or not. “I know we haven’t known each other long, and I don’t want to do anything that might harm your reputation--”

“Fuck my reputation,” Dean cuts in firmly. During the kiss he’d slipped his arm around Castiel’s waist, and he tightens his grip just enough to get Castiel to look back up at him. He gives Castiel his most charming smile, and is rewarded when Castiel relaxes against him and smiles back. He tilts his head in invitation, until Castiel’s fingers resume petting through his hair. “I’m just worried that they’ll send someone to spy on us and report back later.”

Castiel snorts a laugh, making warmth coil tight between Dean’s lungs. “If that’s the case,” he says with a goofy smile, “then we probably should stay a little longer. I’m comfortable with public displays of affection, but outright exhibitionism is not one of my kinks. I’d rather not be wondering if Jo is hiding around a corner while I’m with you.”

“We can stick around until they’re too drunk to care about what we’re doing,” Dean suggests.

“Are we going to do something that they’ll care about?” Castiel asks, his lips pursed in a flirty smile. “Because I’ll be honest, I like the sound of that.”

Dean curls his fingers into Castiel’s shirt. “Me too.”

* * *

If Dean doesn’t stop looking at him like that, Castiel is going to throw all caution to the wind and drag him to the nearest secluded corner for a much more thorough kiss. Possibly more. Exhibitionism might be worth trying it if it’s the only way he can get his hands on Dean.

He needs a distraction. 

The karaoke is still going strong, but there’s a small group of people pairing off in a clear space in front of the stage. Having Dean’s body pressed against his as they move to the music may not be a good way to take his mind off all the much more erotic things he wants to do, but he’s also not opposed to some self-imposed suffering if it means he can touch Dean’s body right now.

“Dean… would you like to dance?”

To his surprise, Dean goes pale. A distinctly hunted expression flashes across his face. “Uh, I don’t think that’s a good idea.” He doesn’t move, but he seems to draw back from Castiel, his expression wary.

Confusion fills Castiel over the sudden change. Before he can ask what he did wrong, an arm comes round Dean’s shoulder, and Ash is suddenly in the small bubble of privacy they’d created for themselves.

“What’s the matter, man ?” Ash’s drawl is thicker than usual, and Castiel thinks he might be closer to drunk than not. He shakes Dean lightly. “Don’t you want to dance?” 

“Ash…” Dean says warningly. 

Flicking the tail of his mullet over his shoulder, Ash turns cheerful bloodshot eyes on Castiel. “He’s just shy. Don’t let him talk you out of it.”

“Don’t push it, Ash,” Dean growls. “Or you and I will go outside and _dance_.”

The emphasis on the last word makes Castiel think whatever activity Dean has in mind will involve less bopping along to music, and more swinging fists.

Ash leans back and slaps Dean on the back with a carefree laugh, unaffected by the clear warning of danger. “I’m just messin’ with you, Dean-o! Don’t get your panties in a twist.” To Castiel he adds “He doesn’t dance, amigo. And trust me, if you’d seen the things I’ve witnessed, you’d never ask him to.”

Even in the dim lights, Castiel can see Dean’s flushed cheeks. Ash may not seem worried, but Castiel senses the tremor of suppressed violence where their bodies are still pressed together, and he wonders if Dean will continue to control it or if he’ll see a darker side of the man tonight.

But Benny comes to the rescue, materializing next to Ash. “Quit aggravating him, Ash. I rather like your face the way it is, and I’d hate to see Dean rearrange it for you tonight.”

“BENNY! Dance with me!” Ash crows before launching himself at the bigger man and wrapping him in a bear hug. They stumble away, Benny throwing a wink at them as he leads Ash onto the dance floor.

Castiel smiles at their antics, but looks up at Dean in concern. “Are you alright?” He runs his palm over Dean’s neck again, because it seems to relax him.

This time is no different. Dean takes a deep breath, closing his eyes as if to center himself, and sighing out the tension in his body. “Sorry ‘bout that,” he says when he opens his eyes to smile wryly at Castiel. “He startled me, and that’s uh… not always a good thing.”

Castiel is more sure than ever that Dean suffers from PTSD, and wonders if he’s had an official diagnosis and is getting treatment. He seems to cope well, but Castiel knows from experience that the symptoms are rarely obvious on the surface. And he’s looking at Castiel now like he’s afraid that the confession will send him running. But Castiel has no intention of going anywhere yet. 

“So,” he says. “No dancing, huh?”

Dean winces. “Uh, no. It’s a skill I never acquired.”

That is a surprise, considering Dean’s talent at singing. He’d think it would translate into a good sense of rhythm. And Dean moves with a loose limbed grace, without a trace of clumsiness unless he’s nervous…

_Oh_.

“Maybe you just need practice,” Castiel says with a warm smile as he resettles his grip around Dean’s shoulders, turning toward him so they’re almost in a position to dance right where they are. “Or the right teacher.”

* * *

Dean’s breath catches in his throat at Castiel’s suggestion. Making a fool of himself in front of his friends might be worth it to have Castiel’s body moving against his. “Are you offering?”

“Yes, I am.” Castiel glances around. “Although maybe not here. I have a feeling your friends would be distracting.” His attention comes back to Dean, with a heated gaze. “And I think we’d have more fun doing it alone anyway.”

There’s no way he’s still talking about dancing. Dean’s voice emerges from his suddenly dry throat as a croak. “I think you’re right.”

The bar is still packed, the weekend crowd taking their chance to unwind very seriously. Benny and Ash are on the dance floor, Sam and Eileen swaying together next to them even though the current music is too upbeat for their slow dance. Jo must have slipped away at some point, probably due to threatening glares from her mother who still moves around behind the bar, even though Donnie’s doing most of the work now. 

“You know,” he says, “no one’s paying attention to us anymore if you want to slip out.”

“Yes,” Castiel says, slow and deliberate. “I would like to do that.”

Dean tilts his head in the direction of the door, and Castiel nods his understanding. And then slips his hand into Dean’s and looks up at him expectantly. 

For a moment, Dean is frozen with the realization that Castiel is placing his trust in him. They’ve only known each other for a week, and Castiel has no idea what kind of darkness lingers inside of Dean. His sharp eyes have probably caught the edges of it peeking through--Dean can tell Castiel was trying to sooth him with soft touches--but there’s a writhing mass of fear and hatred and anger inside of Dean. It could overtake him at any time, and turn him into a monster. 

He promised himself when he started therapy with Pam that he’d keep that beast leashed inside, because he doesn’t want it to escape and hurt any of his loved ones. And he renews that oath now, because he wants to deserve the faith Castiel is showing him.

“Dean?”

Shaking off his weighty thoughts, Dean squeezes Castiel’s hand in reassurance. 

They discard their half-finished drinks on the bar, and Dean leads Castiel through the crowd. He keeps his eyes on the door, hoping to avoid getting waylaid by any of his friends. 

It’s only when they reach the exit that his mission to get Castiel somewhere private that he runs into an obstacle. The door swings open, and he nearly runs headlong into Jody as she returns from taking Bobby and Rufus home.

“Oh! Hey, boys. Leaving already?” 

“Time to go before I’m too drunk to drive,” Dean says, even though he hasn’t had a drop of alcohol and she knows it.

She grins at the two of them and immediately steps out of their way, holding the door open for them. “Well then, you two have a good night. Stay out of trouble.”

Dean doesn’t hesitate, pulling Castiel through the door.

“Use a condom!” Jody calls out before she lets it fall closed behind them.


	16. Chapter 16

The way Dean rolls his eyes skyward as if begging for strength makes Castiel chuckle. He’s never been on a date where the person’s friends and family do their best to interrupt at every turn, and it sounds like an off-putting prospect, but he’d been highly entertained. It isn’t the first time he’s seen Dean around them, but it felt different, filled with a lot more teasing about the change in their dynamic. Dean’s grumpy exasperation tempered with poorly hidden fondness showed how much he loves them. And the way they had included Castiel in the friendly ribbing had made him feel accepted, even valued as part of the group. 

“I’m sorry you had to put up with that,” Dean says when the door swings shut behind them, cutting down the music’s volume to a soft rumble and leaving them finally alone together in the silvery light of a half moon. “I’d say they’re normally not like that, but it would be a bald faced lie.”

Castiel tugs Dean closer by the hand still wrapped around his. “You have nothing to apologize for. I had a lot of fun.”

“You’re either a liar,” Dean murmurs, “Or you’re just as bad as they are, and you like to see me suffer.”

Leaning in until they’re almost sharing the same breath, Castiel watches Dean’s eyes go liquid with desire. With mere inches between them, Castiel whispers “only if that’s a kink you’re into.”

“Holy shit,” Dean breathes. He blinks hard, and straightens with a rough clearing of his throat. “I’m uh… totally into talking about my kinks, but not in the parking lot.”

Glancing around, Castiel nods in agreement. “There are more appropriate locations.”

Dean chuckles, and starts in the direction of his truck, still pulling Castiel along by the hand. He doesn’t appear to have any intention of letting go any time soon. “Come on, ya weirdo, let’s get out of here.”

He walks Castiel to the door of the truck, and only releases him once he’s seated inside. But Dean doesn’t move away immediately. He rests an arm on the edge of the door and gives Castiel a long considering look. Just as Castiel is ready to ask what’s on his mind, he finally speaks. “I’d like to show you something if you’re up for a drive,” Dean says. “And if you trust me.”

Does he trust Dean? He has no reason not to, other than the short length of their acquaintance. But a direct question like that makes him truly consider the question. There has always been something earnest about Dean, the way he wears his feelings displayed so openly on his sleeve, and how he’s shared so much about himself that Castiel wouldn’t expect. It gives him an easy credibility few seem to possess.

He thinks back to the night he spent in Dean’s home. How Dean had cared for him so gently, and made him feel safe after a harrowing experience. Even then he’d given Dean his trust, and in the days since then, his feeling of well-being in Dean’s presence has only increased.

“Yes,” he says, simply. 

Dean lets out a gust of air, that he must have been holding. Immediately a smile that nearly brings back the daylight spreads across his face. “Great,” he says. “You’re going to want to buckle up.”

As they pull out of the parking lot, Castiel wonders how Dean has managed to so thoroughly wiggle under his skin already. Enough to consider him worthy of his unquestioning trust while Dean drives him to an unknown location where it will be just the two of them alone. 

He studies Dean intently as he drives. Vaguely he realizes they’re going further away from the motel, heading out of town, but he’s too busy examining what’s going on in his own head to pay attention to where they’re going.

Dean has a presence of command about him, but he’s also gentle and considerate. It’s the combination that seems to draw Castiel to him. 

“Do I have something on my face?” There’s an undercurrent of laughter in Dean’s voice.

Humming thoughtfully, Castiel reaches out and runs a finger along Dean’s cheekbone. “Just your face,” he says softly.

Dean casts a bashful smile at him, but doesn’t comment further.

Castiel wonders if Dean is unaware of how hard it is not to stare at him all the time. 

But he doesn’t want to make Dean feel uncomfortable, so he makes the monumental effort to turn his eyes away from the beautiful man next to him, and looks out the window instead. His eyes pop wide when he realizes they’ve left Purgatory far behind, and they’re on the road Castiel had been driving on when his bike broke down. “I hope this road isn’t as bad luck for you as it was for me,” he says.

Dean snorts a soft laugh. “If we break down out here, I’m going to assume it’s _your_ bad luck. I’ve driven through here thousands of times.”

Enough has gone wrong in Castiel’s life that the concept of bad luck following him around exclusively sends a chill down his spine. “That does not make me feel better,” he mutters.

“Did I say something wrong?” Dean’s eyes flick back and forth between Castiel and the road, worry clear in his tone. “I was just kidding, Cas.”

Castiel shakes his head, and wishes he hadn’t said anything to raise Dean’s concern. “No you didn’t. I just thought of something I wish I hadn’t.”

Dean doesn’t say anything as he considers Castiel’s words. He’d put in a tape when they got in the truck, classic rock that’s probably older than either of them, and it’s the only sound in the cab aside from the soft rumble of the engine, and the occasional thump of the wheels as they go over cracks in the asphalt. Nearly a whole song passes before he speaks again. “Cas? What are you running from?”

His gaze snaps to Dean, who is studiously staring at the road, jaw tight, hands gripping the wheel until his knuckles turn white. Like he’s not sure he should have asked the question, and is bracing himself to be scolded… or for an answer that he doesn’t want to hear.

And that’s Castiel’s fault, even if it would be unusual for him to spill his life history to someone who was a stranger as little as a week ago. He’s hedged around questions about his life back in Boston, but he can’t avoid answering them forever. Anyone would be curious about why he’s been drifting across the country, so far from home, with no plans other than to keep following the road day in and day out. He’s never stayed in one place long enough that he felt like he needed to sate that curiosity. But he’s not just passing through Purgatory. He’s making friends, people that he genuinely enjoys spending time with.

And then there is Dean. Waiting for an answer to a question he deserves an answer to if Castiel wants to continue to build a relationship with him. 

He considers deflecting the question just one more time. _What makes you think I’m running from anything?_ But no. He actually wants Dean to know, and that means he needs to be honest.

He looks out the window, where the distant mountains seem to creep by very slowly, while the scraggly bushes and fence posts at the edge of the road fly by almost too fast to see. “I killed someone,” he says flatly.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Dean glance at him. “In the line of duty?”

His voice is curious, but there’s no censure in it. Castiel looks over and sees that Dean’s shoulders have relaxed and he’s no longer gripping the steering wheel like he’s afraid it will jerk out of his hands. 

It shouldn’t be a surprise that he would take such an announcement calmly. He’s probably seen more death during his military career than Castiel has in all his years as a cop. Despite the gravity of the subject, his lips twitch with a small smile. It’s short-lived though, because what he has to say next is not easy. Too much of his life has been uprooted and upended.

“It was a mugger,” he says on a sigh. “We fought, and I broke his neck while I was defending myself. I’ve got a scar where he knifed me during the fight.” The words are cold and clinical. A short list of events that changed his whole life.

It had been a normal night. They’d gone for a walk that evening and stopped at a restaurant for dinner. They were walking home hand in hand, each carrying a doggy bag, and Hannah was telling him about a conversation she’d had with his mother earlier that day. There had been no reason for worry, the neighborhood was typically a safe one, and Castiel was a cop after all. The mugger had jumped out of a small alley, brandishing a knife, probably more scared than Castiel had been. If Hannah hadn’t screamed at the sight of the blade, the man might have just demanded their money and things would have been different.

But Hannah had panicked, and so had the mugger. He lashed out at her, and Castiel jumped in to protect her. The man hadn’t been very large, but he was much stronger than he looked. In the scuffle that followed, Castiel ended up with a slash in his stomach, and when they’d both fallen to the street, he’d heard a couple of dull cracks. His own shoulder had burned with the pain of being dislocated, so it took him a moment to realize the mugger’s body had gone deathly still. Once he registered the limp body in his arms, he realized the second crack was the man’s neck breaking.

When he closes his eyes, he can still see Hannah’s horror when she realized what he’d done. The fear and disgust in her eyes when she looked at him still hurts worse than the physical injuries had.

“My wife--”

“Excuse me, your _what?_ ”

Castiel’s eyes snap open at the anger in Dean’s voice. While he slipped into unpleasant memories, he forgot that the subject of his marriage hasn’t come up yet. “We’re divorced,” he says quickly, reaching out to put a reassuring hand on Dean’s arm. “I’m sorry. ‘Wife’ still slips off the tongue.”

The muscles under his hand loosen, and Dean casts him a disgruntled pout. “Go on,” he prompts.

Castiel gives him an apologetic smile for the slip, and squeezes Dean’s arm gently before letting him go. “My ex-wife… she saw the whole thing. And she didn’t handle it very well.”

When he falls silent, Dean also doesn’t speak for a moment. His tone reveals nothing of his thoughts when he asks “What do you mean?”

“Hannah--” Castiel swallows. Her name feels strange on his tongue now. Not like the name of the woman he’d loved, and pledged his life to. Instead it feels like an acquaintance’s name, someone he barely knows. “She has a gentle soul. She’s the kind of woman you want to keep safe and sheltered and loved. And she saw what I’d done…”

“It was self defense.” The words are sharp, underlined with anger.

“Yes,” Castiel says simply. “And Hannah knows that. I truly believe she does. But she looked at me differently after that day. And while I was dealing with my injuries and the legal fallout, she just… drifted away from me.”

The truck slows, and Dean pulls onto a side rode that Castiel wouldn’t have noticed from the highway. It’s narrow, just barely wide enough for two vehicles to pass, and there are no lines painted on the ragged asphalt. The road is poorly maintained, lined with washboard ridges that shake the truck hard enough that Castiel is afraid his teeth might rattle loose.

“Sorry,” Dean says, raising his voice enough to be heard over the loud rumble of his tires over the rough pavement. “We won’t be on this road for long.”

Castiel falls silent, unwilling to raise his voice over the noise to discuss such an uncomfortable subject. Only the rumble of the truck’s tires and the indistinct music from the radio fill the cab for the next ten minutes until Dean pulls off onto a dirt road. It’s full of potholes and rocks, but the ride is quieter. They also slow down considerably. The truck has no problems with the ruts and bumps, but Dean still takes each obstacle carefully.

“So you’re divorced?” Dean finally prompts after the silence stretches for another few minutes.

“Yes, for almost two years.” Castiel’s stomach twists, and he could kick himself for not telling Dean about it earlier. He hopes Dean doesn’t think Castiel has deliberately misled him. But after his first flash of--completely valid--anger, Dean seems more curious than anything else, and Castiel is determined to answer his questions openly and honestly. He hadn’t intended to hide anything, and he wants to make sure Dean knows it.

“You’ve been on the road that long?” Dean casts him a surprised look, even as he expertly guides the truck between the edge of the road and a pothole so big that it should properly be called a ditch. He frowns at whatever he finds in Castiel’s expression. “That’s not what you’re running from, is it?”

He’s so perceptive. Even if Castiel wanted to keep secrets, he doesn’t think he could pull the wool over Dean’s eyes for long. “No, I was in the hospital for a while.” His hand slips to his stomach, brushing over the numb streak of his scar. He rolls his shoulder at the ghost of old pain. “In addition to the knife wound, I dislocated my shoulder. I was laid up for a while… and my doctor was free with the pain killers.”

A particularly rough patch of road has Castiel bracing himself in the truck, despite his seat belt. He laughs slightly once they’re past it. “You know, I’ve talked this out with my therapist more than once, but I think this is the strangest way to have this conversation.”

He catches the bright gleam of Dean’s grin. “And we’re not even at the fun part yet,” he says. “We’ve got a ways to go until then, so you have time to spill the rest of your story. You became addicted to the drugs, didn’t you?”

He asks it casually, as if the answer doesn’t really matter to him. Castiel smiles bitterly. “You make it sound so simple.”

“Isn’t it? You were in pain because of your injuries, you were hurting because your marriage was on the rocks, and you kinda strike me as the guilty conscious type. Why wouldn’t you want to numb all that?”

“I am not the guil--” Castiel cuts off and inhales deeply through his nose. “Alright, maybe I am. I killed a man, Dean.”

“Just one?” Dean asks lightly. His pained smile is a stark contrast to his tone.

“Dean,” Castiel sighs. “That’s different. You were in the military.”

One shoulder lifts in a shrug, but Dean keeps his eyes on the road. “I still pulled the trigger, and someone died. Following orders doesn’t make it any less true, it just means that I wouldn’t get accused of murder. And you’re not sitting in jail, so I’m assuming the self defense angle worked for you.”

“It _was_ self defense,” Castiel says firmly. “But still, I…”

“You still feel like shit. Me too, man.” Dean barks a laugh that holds no humor. “Look at us. Aren’t we a couple of dumbasses.”

Castiel smiles. “I prefer troubled. Less dumb. Less ass.”

Dean snorts, and this time it sounds like real humor.

“So you got hooked on pills,” Dean says, circling back to Castiel’s story. “That’s why you freaked out when I offered you pain killers, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” Castiel takes a deep breath and finishes his story. There isn’t really much more to tell, thankfully. “About six months ago I overdosed, and I woke up in the hospital.” He isn’t going to tell Dean how upset he’d been to wake up at all. He isn’t quite ready to admit that to anyone yet, not even Rowena. “Once I got out, I was detoxed and clean, but… I needed to get away for a while. I got on my bike, and I’ve been driving around ever since.”

Dean doesn’t say anything. Castiel thought talking about his overdose would have raised more questions, but Dean merely looks thoughtful as he continues guiding the truck over the narrow dirt road. Even so, Castiel braces himself for more questions once Dean has absorbed his story. 

It feels good to have it out there. He’s talked and talked and talked about it for months with different therapists, but talking had always seemed to increase his stress before. Is it something about Dean that makes this time different? Or is it the distance he’s put between himself and the life that had fallen apart around him? Whatever the reason, he can’t remember the last time he’s felt so relaxed after talking about it.

He leans back into his seat, and taps his fingers along to the beat of the music, content to let Dean steer the rest of the conversation. Ahead of them the mountains have grown closer, and the road winds into the foothills. 

“We’re almost there,” Dean says as the road begins to angle up and the truck’s engine revs harder as it begins to climb. He flashes a grin at Castiel. “This is the fun part.”

* * *

By the time they’re parked on flat ground again, Dean is sure Castiel will never forgive him.

“I never thought I was afraid of heights,” Castiel says as he comes around the side of the truck to join Dean. His hand stays on the hood of the truck, as if he needs it to steady him. “But something about climbing the side of a mountain in a truck is terrifying as fuck.”

Dean tilts his head back on a laugh, and nudges Castiel with his shoulder. “We were perfectly safe,” he says cheerfully. “I come up here all the time. And you can’t tell me the view isn’t worth it.” He nods in the direction they’d come.

Castiel squints at him skeptically, before he turns to see what Dean is talking about. His jaw sags, and he takes a step away from the truck.

They’re parked in a small open area surrounded by trees, which create a wall of vegetation around them, but it opens toward the road. Through that opening, the valley can be seen stretched out below them, mostly dark with a scattering of small towns glowing yellow in the distance. The closest cluster of twinkling lights is Purgatory.

As Dean looks out over the valley a sense of peace closes over him. It’s been a while since he’s been up here, but it never fails to center him. Tilting his head up he looks at the blanket of stars stretched across the sky. Up here the air is clear, and there’s no light pollution, so even with only a half moon the little clearing feels silvery bright from the light of the stars and the Milkyway stretched overhead.

Rolling his head to the side, he finds Castiel also staring up at the sky in awe, and the sight makes something warm and content curl around his heart. Castiel probably needs to have his moment with nature and the vast universe stretched out in front of him just as much as Dean does. 

He knows there’s probably a lot more to the story Castiel told him on the drive up here, even if Dean has all the facts now. But facts don’t tell him how long Castiel took to heal, and what kind of hell he probably had to deal with if the mugger’s family pressed charges against him. And losing his wife? Someone who should have been there to support him through all of that? Dean can’t imagine how much that must have hurt Castiel, but he thinks it’s pretty bad. Especially if it drove him to addiction.

He thinks about how flat Castiel’s voice was when he told Dean about his overdose. He wonders if it was accidental. And he wants very much to give Castiel a hug when he thinks about the alternative. 

Hugs had always seemed to work for Sam, even when he’d tried to brush Dean off. But Dean knows that a lot of Sam’s recovery from addiction was helped along by having people around who cared about him. Dean hates that Castiel doesn’t seem to have had the same support system.

“Well,” Castiel says, as he drops his head back down and gives Dean an amused look. “It is definitely beautiful up here. I’ll reserve judgment about whether it was worth it until we make it back down alive.” He looks back up at the sky. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many stars,” he murmurs. 

A cool breeze sweeps past, ruffling through the thin fabric of Dean’s shirt and causing him to shiver. Or is it the quiet gravel in Castiel’s voice that’s sending goosebumps racing across his skin? “Even down in the valley they’re not quite this clear. Up here there’s less pollution and ozone between us and the sky.”

Castiel speaks without looking at him. “Do you come up here a lot?”

“I try to. I like the quiet up here.” Whenever his nightmares are the worst. When all he can hear are the screams and explosions under any small noise, even the smallest buzz of electricity that no one else would notice. Only up here is the quiet loud enough to drown out the noises in his brain.

The trees rustle in the breeze, which is definitely cooler than Dean is comfortable with while he’s not wearing a jacket. He grins, excited to spring one more surprise. “Come on,” he says. “There’s more.”

He goes to the back of the truck and pulls out a duffel bag. From the front pocket he pulls out a flashlight, but doesn’t turn it on yet. His night vision has always been good, and there’s enough moonlight for now. Swinging the strap over his shoulder, he motions for Castiel to follow him as he makes his way to a thin path through the trees.

Castiel follows without question, and Dean is once again struck by his unquestioning trust. He’d tried to bring a girlfriend up here once, back when he was a teen, and she’d teased him the whole drive up about hoping he wasn’t a serial killer. Her tone had been joking, but edged with nerves. They’d stopped halfway up, at a different clearing, and he’d never shown her what he’s about to show Castiel.

Other people from Purgatory know about the place, but not many of them are willing to make the drive. Some of them aren’t even willing to ride up here with Dean driving because the terrain is so rough. He isn’t about to mention that to Castiel though.

As they walk, his thoughts drift back to Castiel’s story. The way he’d delivered the worst parts of it makes him think that he’s talked about it more times than he would have preferred, probably in therapy. Dean knows he’s done the same in many of his sessions with Pam. When talking about something that hurts, you have to pretend that it doesn’t or you’ll break down.

It bothers him a little bit that Castiel has been married, although he knows he’s being ridiculous about that. At thirty, Dean could very well have been married himself. He knows Castiel is his age, or maybe a little older, so it’s unrealistic to think that he wouldn’t have some serious relationships under his belt. Still though, something about the fact that Castiel had been married bothers him.

Ten years ago he wouldn’t have bothered to examine his feelings on the issue, but at least some of Pam’s lessons have stuck. He digs at the little nugget of emotion. There’s a niggle of insecurity, but no jealousy. He thinks of the details Castiel shared with him about Hannah. How she’s sweet and gentle, but was disgusted and afraid of violence, and she fell out of love with Castiel because of something that wasn’t even his fault. 

The little flame of annoyance flares into a full bonfire, and his jaw clenches. Okay, yeah. That pisses him off. Noted.

And now that he’s done poking his own squishy insides with a therapy-shaped stick, he decides to set those thoughts aside. Cas is here with him, and that’s all Dean wants to focus on right now.

The hike doesn’t take long, and soon the trees open up ahead of them in another clearing, but this one is nestled between two soaring rock walls. Water runs down the rock, splashing noisily in the pool below.

“Wow,” Castiel says softly as he comes out of the trees behind Dean and surveys the area.

“So do you think it’s worth the drive yet?” Dean asks as he drops the duffel on a large rock near the water.

Castiel shoots him a sideways glance, but he’s smiling. “That’s probably runoff water. It has to be freezing.”

“Actually it’s one of several hot springs,” Dean explains. “There’s one on the far end of this pool too.”

“Seriously?” Castiel asks, looking at the water with new interest. “How is this place not packed with people?” He turns a suspicious squint on Dean. “It’s because of how hard it is to drive up here, isn’t it?”

Dean just laughs and pulls his shirt off over his head. He tosses it next to the duffel and bends down to unlace his boots. “Sure is. Not many people as crazy as me around here.”

When Dean straightens, he sees that Castiel’s gaze is wandering over his bare skin. It pauses on the tattoo on his chest before slowly raising to meet Dean’s. A smile blooms over Castiel’s face. “It would be a shame to suffer through that drive, and not take advantage of this place.”

Waiting with bated breath, Dean watches as Castiel pulls his own shirt off and tosses it aside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The harrowing drive up the side of a mountain is another joke pulled from Mass Effect. Shepard was always considered a shitty driver, and he liked to drive his truck up sheer cliff walls XD (Okay, it was me. I liked driving the Mako up sheer cliff walls lol)


	17. Chapter 17

Without pausing for thought, Castiel reaches for the button of his jeans. He’s already made his decision about how he wants his relationship with Dean to go, and he sees no reason to hesitate over physical intimacy. It _is_ just an invitation to swim, but if this goes further than that, he’s fully on board. 

Holding Dean’s gaze steadily with his own, he hooks his thumbs under the waistband of both his jeans and his underwear and pushes them down over his hips. In the darkness, Dean’s eyes look black as they sweep over Castiel’s body, taking in every detail. Dean even licks his lips like he’s imagining taking a juicy bite, and Castiel hardens under that hungry gaze. He makes no move to hide his arousal.

And Dean definitely notices. His teeth sink into his bottom lip, and makes a small noise in his throat. When he finally lifts his eyes, the corners of his mouth curl up in a smirk that tempts Castiel to close the space between them and help Dean remove the rest of his clothes.

Dean seems to realize he’s got some catching up to do, and his fingers begin to move, stripping away the rest of his own clothing. When he straightens, he stays where he is, giving Castiel a moment to look his fill as well. An opportunity Castiel takes full advantage of. Dean’s chest, marked with the flaming star to the right of where his dogtags hang, is muscled but smooth. As is his stomach until a light dusting of hair starts below his belly button and spreads down into his groin. But to the left the skin turns dark and rippled. 

A scar, Castiel realizes, one that spreads from his left hip down his thigh until it disappears under colorful tattoos that he can’t make out the details of in the moonlight. But they’re extensive, probably hiding even more damaged skin, all the way past his knee. The same knee that he occasionally sees Dean massage absently.

“Nice ink,” Castiel murmurs as he lifts his eyes to find Dean watching him.

“Thanks,” Dean says simply. He says nothing about the scars or the tattoos, but he looks down at the dark slash across Castiel’s abdomen and his expression hardens. Still, he doesn’t comment on it. 

Castiel closes the space between them, hiding a wince when his foot finds the edge of a stone. In a calculated risk, he reaches out and touches the highest tattoo on Dean’s thigh. As he suspected, he can feel scar tissue under the ink. Dean’s dogtags jingle softly when he takes a sharp breath, but he doesn’t speak and he stays still as Castiel traces the images he can see. “Do they mean anything?” he asks.

“Not really,” Dean answers quietly. “I just brought in a bunch of album covers, Zeppelin, Styx, Boston… asked them to make something up based on that.”

As Castiel runs his thumb over what he can now make out as a flying saucer, he wonders if there’s something in the albums that have significance. Something that maybe Dean isn’t even aware of. In just the short time they’ve known each other, Castiel has learned that music holds a lot of value to Dean. 

A breeze brushes over them, and a shiver wracks Castiel’s bare body, followed by an eruption of goosebumps all over. Dean chuckles even as he wiggles his shoulders in a mild shudder. He catches Castiel’s exploring fingers in his own, and guides him down a path of flat rocks toward the water’s edge. “Careful,” he says. “This isn’t very deep, but there’s a rock here to step down…”

Castiel lets himself be pulled into the water. It’s slightly above lukewarm, but it feels nice compared to the cooling wind. As Dean leads him deeper into the pool, the water gets warmer as they approach the source of the heat. The bottom of the pool is sandy, and soft against his feet.

They stop near the waterfall, where the pool comes up past their hips. There’s a ledge under the surface, pressing against Castiel’s leg. It’s high enough that if he sits down on it, the water will probably come up to his collarbone.

Dean turns to face him, still holding his hand just under the water’s surface. They’re standing close enough to make Castiel aware of their slight height difference, making him tilt his chin up to meet Dean’s eyes. Even with only an inch or two on him, Dean’s presence is large, almost looming. Except that would denote danger, which Castiel absolutely does not feel in Dean’s presence. There’s a heavy sense of impending _something_ , like the thickness in the air before a storm, and it presses against Castiel’s body, making him overly sensitive to every current of air and water against his skin.

When one of Dean’s large hands settles at the base of Castiel’s spine, pulling him closer, he gasps at the contact. Dean’s other hand traces a slow path up from his hip to his ribs, his touch warmer than the water, almost hot. Goosebumps trail behind his fingers, making Castiel shiver again, but this time it has nothing to do with the cold breeze wrapping around their shoulders.

“I didn’t bring you up here to jump your bones,” Dean’s voice is a low, husky rumble. His thumb sweeps back and forth in small arcs over Castiel’s spine, but he doesn’t apply any more pressure to close the last few inches between them. “I want to do this right.”

“Dean, I’m here now, and I am willing to stick around for a while.” He rests his hands on Dean’s waist. “Whatever pace we choose to take this together is doing it right.” Smirking coyly, he adds “Plus, I’m naked because I’m kind of hoping for some seduction.”

His announcement is met with a broad smile, and a huff of laughter. “Okay then,” Dean says just before he lowers his mouth over Castiel’s.

Even though he’s already felt Dean’s lips against his own, the first contact sends a zing of awareness through his entire body, tightening some muscles and loosening others. His jaw relaxes, opening in an invitation that Dean immediately accepts. His tongue is silky warm as it traces Castiel’s top lip before retreating. Unwilling to let him escape, Castiel gives chase, exploring the heat of Dean’s mouth. He still tastes like the rootbeer they’d been drinking earlier.

Moaning at the flavor of _Dean_ under the sweetness, Castiel adjusts his grip and yanks Dean fully against him. Dean flinches back and drops one hand to cover Castiel’s where it’s digging into his scarred hip. 

Immediately, Castiel loosens his grip. “I’m sorry,” he says quickly, trying to pull his hand away. “I didn’t mean to--does it hurt?”

Dean is board stiff, but he doesn’t try to pull any further away, and his hand clamps down over Castiel’s wrist holding it inches above his skin. “No, I can’t actually feel--” he takes a deep breath and let’s out slowly, warming Castiel’s skin where it touches him. “I just...I know they’re kinda gross...”

The twinge under Castiel’s sternum is a confusing tangle of affection for this utterly beautiful man, and heartache over whatever unknown event gave him the scars, and anger at anyone--including Dean--thinking the scars are unattractive. A gentle twist is enough to free his hand from Dean’s grasp, and he settles it gently over the rippled skin on his hip. It’s soft and warm under his palm, the ridges waxy smooth compared to the undamaged skin. “I don’t think that.”

Dean ducks his head, and the moonlight creates a silvery halo along the tips of his hair while his face is hidden in shadow. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to kill the mood.” He chuckles bitterly. “I never thought I was vain, until....”

Castiel keeps his hand planted firmly over Dean’s scarred hip, but lifts the other one to nudge Dean’s chin until his face is no longer hidden in shadow. Dean tries to avoid his gaze, but Castiel tips his head down until Dean has no choice but to look at him again. “Dean you are... _stupidly_ gorgeous. I’m not sure how you’ve managed to remain even a little bit humble.”

A tiny smile plays around the edges of Dean’s lips. “Well, it _is_ kinda hard when I’ve got this going on.” He vaguely gestures at his face. “Fake it till you make it, right?”

Huffing a small laugh, Castiel shakes his head. “Nevermind, I no longer believe you have a humble bone in your body after such a poor acting performance.”

Dean’s expression twists into a wicked grin, and he presses his hips against Castiel. He’s not fully hard, but definitely aroused, and the length of his cock is warmer than the water they’re standing in. “Maybe _one_ humble bone.”

Groaning at the tasteless joke, Castiel drags Dean’s head down and kisses him. At first it’s sloppy and awkward because of Dean’s irrepressible giggling and Castiel’s inability to suppress his amused grin. But then they settle, and things heat up quickly until they’re both gasping for breath and rutting against each other. 

* * *

Kissing Castiel obliterates the last of Dean’s hesitation like a comet strike. All he can do is sink into Castiel, surrendering to the onslaught.

With a deep growl, Castiel’s arms tighten around Dean, pulling him even closer. Strong fingers grip Dean’s ass, squeezing firmly and making Dean’s toes curl in the soft sand under his feet. Throwing his head back, Dean squeezes his eyes shut and wiggles his hips in Castiel’s grasp, alternating between pushing back into his hands and grinding forward to feel the hot slide of their cocks between their bellies. Castiel takes it as an invitation to latch onto his throat. He gasps as teeth slide over his skin with just the right amount of pressure.

“Cas!” It comes out as a whimper.

“I want you, Dean.” Castiel speaks the words into his skin, like he doesn’t have the strength to lift his head. He suckles gently over Dean’s pulse, then releases the bruising skin with a soft sucking noise. “Since the first time I saw you.”

“Feeling’s… mutual,” Dean manages to squeeze out.

And then he loses the gift of coherent thought when Castiel’s hands slip down further, delving between his thighs. Strong fingers spread him open to the water, which feels almost cool against his feverish skin. Dean rocks his hips again, whining at the almost there touch of Castiel’s fingertips against his rim and the way his own cock drags through the hair on Castiel’s groin.

Castiel continues to knead his ass under the water, encouraging and guiding each motion. Dean allows Castiel to control him, reveling in Castiel’s strength. He’s never considered himself a submissive lover, even though he’s always enjoyed the times where he hasn’t had to take charge. But being able to let go, to allow himself to be manhandled is something he hasn’t been comfortable with for years. 

It’s different this time. There’s a trust growing between them that makes it easy. To let Castiel guide them, and to control Dean’s pleasure. 

But that doesn’t mean he isn’t going to take what he wants. Dropping his head forward again, he captures Castiel’s mouth again. Castiel’s lips are soft, even if his kissing is not. It’s almost overwhelming the way Castiel’s kisses make Dean feel conquered… but also craved. Like Castiel can’t get enough. Like he needs Dean as much as he needs air. 

When a blunt fingertip prods at his hole, Dean’s knees give up the ghost. Only Castiel’s strong arms, and the buoyancy of the water hold him upright. He’d be embarrassed about it, but he’s far too gone, mind blank with pleasure and need. 

His eyes go wide, and he finds Castiel staring at him with burning intensity. “You like that, don’t you?” Castiel asks.

Dean shivers. Castiel’s usual whiskey on the rocks baritone has dropped into a lower, richer octave that makes Dean want to do anything to hear more. He’ll drop to his knees right here in the water and worship the man in front of him, just to hear praise or profanity, hopefully both. But Castiel’s hold is firm, keeping him upright.

“Yeah,” Dean breathes, but it feels inadequate. “Fuck, yeah.”

A pleased smirk matches Castiel’s deep chuckle. “Is that a request?”

Before Dean can answer, Castiel applies enough pressure to push inside, and Dean forgets he even asked a question. It hasn’t been that long since he’s had something inside of him; he’s got a collection of well used, and very well loved toys. But it’s been years since anyone else has touched him like this, and all his higher functions are malfunctioning. Instinct takes over, and he’s rocking his hips in an effort to take more. 

“It is, isn’t it?” Castiel asks, awe in his voice and in the way he’s staring at Dean like he’s some kind of miracle. “You want me to fuck you, don’t you?”

He thinks he’s probably supposed to actually attempt an answer. Dean responds with his body, pushing his hips back again.

Castiel leans forward and feathers kisses across Dean’s cheek and jaw. “I want to,” he breathes into Dean’s ear. “God, I want to fuck you so bad. But we don’t have lube or condoms.”

A frustrated laugh finally breaks free of Dean’s previously paralyzed throat. “Son of a bitch, I knew I forgot something. Told you I wasn’t planning this.”

“Next time,” Castiel promises. He pulls back slightly, and Dean moans in protest when Castiel’s hands move back to his hips. 

It was only the tip of a single finger, but Dean feels an empty ache anyway.

But then Castiel is sitting down in the water, on the rocky ledge closest to the waterfall. He uses his grip on Dean’s hips to tug at him. “Come here.”

Dean obeys eagerly, straddling Castiel’s thighs on the rock ledge. Castiel smiles up at him, appreciation gleaming like starlight in his eyes as his hands stroke Dean from knee to hip and back again. 

“You look so good like this,” Castiel rasps. 

The compliment heats Dean’s cheeks, and he’s grateful that it’s hidden by the darkness. He jokes about how pretty he is, but it still feels good to hear it from someone as smoking hot as Castiel. 

One of Castiel’s hands slips between them, and Dean gasps when it wraps around his cock. “Cas…”

Castiel starts stroking him from base to tip, with a gentle grasp and a firm rhythm. “Does that feel good?”

“Real fuckin’ good,” Dean murmurs as he wraps his arms around Castiel’s shoulders and leans in for a kiss, making his dogtags jingle when they swing into the space between them. He slips his tongue into Castiel’s mouth, matching his kiss to the rolling motion of his hips as he fucks into Castiel’s fist. His fingers tangle in the damp curls at the back of Castiel’s neck, holding on for dear life.

The friction is almost too rough sometimes, because the water isn’t the best substitute for lube, but Castiel’s hand is large and warm and skilled. He picks up on Dean’s tells quickly, switching the speed of his strokes or the pressure of his grip, dragging Dean closer and closer to the peak of pleasure. Dean has a feeling that Castiel could easily keep him teetering on the edge for as long as he wants to, but at the moment he doesn’t seem interested in drawing things out too long. 

Castiel’s thumb rubs roughly over the head of Dean’s cock, once, twice, and then he’s coming. Crying out against Castiel’s lips, trying to press himself even closer to the heated body below his own, to get as much skin on skin contact as he can while his mind whites out with pleasure. 

For a long moment all he can hear is the gentle roar of the waterfall, the wind in the trees, and the blood pounding in his ears. And the litany of murmured praise from Castiel’s lips. Calling him beautiful, telling him he’s incredible and stunning and wonderful.

When he has enough breath to speak, Dean straightens and chuckles. “Okay, okay,” he huffs, “you’re gonna give me a complex.”

Castiel’s free hand is tracing a tickling path up and down his spine, and he looks up at Dean with all the awe of a man who has witnessed something that has rocked his worldview. “If we’re going to be dating, I’m afraid you’ll have to get used to compliments,” Castiel says, low and husky. “I can’t seem to help myself.”

Under the weight of Castiel’s stare, Dean drops his eyes to the space between them. It’s too dark to see anything, but he can feel the hard length of Castiel’s cock against his inner thigh. He spares a wistful thought for having it inside him as he reaches for it. Especially when he wraps his fingers around its girth. 

Dean Winchester, a size queen? Maybe. The truth is that even in the limited light on the shore he’d seen that Castiel has a pretty cock, and he can tell by the way it fits in his hand that it would give him exactly the kind of aching stretch that he likes. 

Next time. _Definitely_ next time.

“Let me take care of you now, Cas.” He leans down and kisses Castiel softly. 

Castiel makes a soft noise, and wraps both his arms around Dean’s hips. He let’s Dean explore, thumbing at his foreskin, and reaching down further to cup his balls and roll them gently through his fingers. And he even makes an encouraging sound and attempts to spread his legs a little more to give Dean room to probe behind them. 

Interesting. And something Dean definitely wants to revisit eventually. But he returns his focus to Castiel’s cock, experimenting with different pressures and speeds, seeing what makes Castiel gasp and moan. When he thinks he’s got a handle-- _heh--_ on the things Castiel likes, Dean sits up and watches Castiel as he strokes him under the water. 

“God, Cas. You’re so fucking gorgeous,” Dean whispers. Castiel’s eyes had slipped shut, but he opens them enough to peer up at Dean through the dark fan of his lashes. They look black under the starlight, but Dean can easily recall their deep, hypnotic blue. His brow is scrunched up in concentration, and his lips are parted as his chest rises and falls with each sawing breath. Dean holds his gaze, wanting to see every twitch in his expression.

“Dean,” Castiel says hoarsely. His eyes close briefly and his face twists with a pained expression. When he looks up at Dean again, they’re dark pools of desperation. “Dean, I’m going to…”

“Yeah, Cas.” Dean increases the speed of his hand over the hard, hot flesh, reveling in the way it twitches and seems to swell against his palm. “Come apart for me, sweetheart, let me see it.”

Castiel’s body locks up, and his head falls back against the bank behind him. His hands scrabble against Dean’s sides, gripping almost too tight as he comes with a breathless cry.

* * *

Dean doesn’t stop touching him, stroking gently and slowly until it’s too much, and Castiel squirms underneath him. It’s enough of a signal, and Dean’s hand stops moving against his overly sensitive flesh, but doesn’t move his hand away. Which is just fine for Castiel, because he thinks he’s in love with Dean’s hands, even if he isn’t in love with the man himself yet. 

But he can admit that he’s getting there. And it’s a thrilling thought. Maybe he should be wary; his last relationship burned him badly. But there’s something about Dean that gives him hope. And he clings to it, nurturing it in his chest. He wants this. He wants Dean. 

Keeping his head pillowed on the rocky ledge behind him, Castiel angles his chin so he can look at Dean without having to expend energy to hold it up. He feels the dopiness of the smile on his face, but he doesn’t bother to reign it in. “Wow,” he murmurs. And then again because he feels like it needs emphasis. “Wow.”

Above him, Dean’s grin is smug. “That about sums it up for me too,” he agrees brightly. Then he shifts his weight, and winces. “I’m gonna have a limp when we’re done here though.”

Castiel lifts a brow. “But we didn’t do _that._ ”

“Smartass.” Dean smacks the water, sending a splash of warm water over Castiel’s chest. With another wince, he lifts himself off Castiel’s lap and sits on the ledge next to him, close enough that their shoulders are pressed firmly together.

Castiel’s glad for the connection. He’d rather keep Dean on his lap, because it’s as close to full body cuddling as they can get without a proper bed to do it in, and he’s keen to keep as much skin to skin contact as he can get. It’s been so long, he’d forgotten how good it feels. And he suspects Dean is of the same mind, if the way he’s leaned into every one of Castiel’s touches tonight is any indication of his feelings. He hasn’t shared his dating history, but Castiel gets the impression that it’s been a long time for him too.

Dean wiggles until he can rest his head on Castiel’s shoulder and wrap an arm over his stomach, further confirming Castiel’s belief that he’s just as touch starved as Castiel is. Castiel curves his body toward Dean, gripping his arm and holding it in place.

“It’s my knee. Old injury,” Dean says, once he’s made himself comfortable. 

After pressing a kiss against Dean’s hair, Castiel leans his cheek against it and looks up at the stars. The water laps gently against their bodies from where the waterfall disturbs the surface of the pond and sends out widening ripples. The rest of the world seems very far away. All their problems, all their trauma, it barely seems to exist up here in this tiny sanctuary in the mountains. It almost feels blasphemous to ask about it, but curiosity prods him to speak. “What happened?”

Dean is silent for so long that Castiel isn’t sure he’ll get an answer. Which would be alright, because Castiel doesn’t need an answer as much as he needs Dean’s contented presence at his side. But after a few minutes Dean speaks, his voice low and devoid of inflection. “It’s the injury that got me discharged from the military.”

Castiel keeps his tone light and teasing. “After all the dirt everyone wants to tell me about you, I’d have thought someone would have mentioned that.”

“It’s not something I like to talk about,” Dean says. “Sam knows more than anyone else, because he was there for… but he doesn’t know everything either.”

It’s clear that he still doesn’t want to talk about it. And Castiel doesn’t really blame him, even if a few hours ago he was spilling all his own secrets. It had been hard talking about Hannah and the drugs, and he half wishes he could go back and undo that conversation. Not because he’s ashamed, but because having it out in the open now makes him think about it. About how it’s time for him to stop avoiding his problems and start properly dealing with them. 

Being a cop can be tough, but Castiel had been mostly lucky. He’d avoided some of the more unpleasant experiences. He’s no stranger to death and crime, but as a detective he was only exposed to the aftermath. If Dean had been injured so badly during his deployment, then he’s obviously seen an experienced things that Castiel doesn’t even want to try and imagine.

So he isn’t going to push Dean into telling him more. Dean has obviously experienced his own trauma, has all the common signs of PTSD, and Castiel won’t take those things lightly.

He shifts a little, lacing his fingers with Dean’s over his belly. “You don’t have to talk about it.” 

The tension draining from Dean’s body tells him it was the right thing to say.

They sit in comfortable silence for several minutes before Dean sits up and gives Castiel a mischievous grin. “Do you know how to swim?”

“Are you kidding?” Castiel scoffs. “I learned to swim in the ocean.”

“Then let’s get in the deep end.” Dean pushes off the ledge, leaving a frothy wake behind his body. He swipes a foot in Castiel’s direction, sending a wave of warm water over him.

Not one to be cowed by a little splash, Castiel laughs and follows Dean deeper into the water. At its deepest the water still only comes up to his collarbone, but there is plenty of room for them to goof around. A short water fight is followed by a little bit of underwater wrestling. They come up for air laughing, which eventually fades as their lips meet. 

Hands explore, and limbs tangle together. It’s too soon for either of them to come again, but they still tease and caress until Castiel’s skin buzzes with low grade arousal. 

Just as he thinks maybe he might be able to go for another round, Dean pulls back with a sigh. “Later,” he promises. “When we’ve got supplies. And preferably a bed.”

Castiel agrees, but they stay close. They float on their backs, talking quietly about the constellations as the air gets cooler and the moon disappears behind the trees. When they finally decide that they’re probably pruny enough, they climb out of the water, shivering as the wind strikes their wet skin.

The duffel bag Dean brought contains a couple of large towels, as well as two pairs of swim trunks. Castiel laughs when he sees them after Dean hands him a towel. “You really didn’t plan on seducing me, did you?”

Dean gives him a sheepish smile. “I planned on offering you a swimsuit, but then I had the chance to see you naked and I took it. So...yeah.”

Castiel hooks a finger in the waistband of one of the pairs of shorts, and he grins when he sees a bright pink flamingo on a dark, possibly blue background. “Wearing them probably wouldn’t have stopped anything from happening.” He winks, and drops the shorts back in the duffel. 

Dean laughs, and acknowledges his point with a nod as he finishes drying off.

They finish getting dry and dressed, and Castiel carries the duffel on the way back to the truck. With the moon having disappeared behind one of the taller mountain peaks, it’s pitch black along the path under the trees. But Dean seems to know exactly where he’s going. The path is only wide enough for one, but he holds his hand out behind him.

Castiel takes it, trusting Dean to lead him through the darkness and back into the light.


	18. Chapter 18

Back in the clearing where the truck waited for them, it’s possible once again to see exactly how far up the mountain they’d come. Castiel’s steps slow, and he frowns at the view. “Are you sure it’s safe to go back down in the dark?”

Dean takes the duffel from him and tosses it in the back of the truck. “It’s no problem. I’ve done it plenty of times.” He must catch the doubt in Castiel's expression, because he steps in front of him to block his view of the valley. “If you don’t mind a camp-out, we can wait until morning. We can sleep in the truck.”

Castiel hasn’t been camping since he was a kid. And never far from the cabin his family stayed in when they visited the family orchard. His parents would set up a tent outside for him, but he could walk across the grass and go inside if it was cold, or scared, or had to use the nice modern bathroom. This is much different, and doesn’t even involve a tent. Just the hard bed of a truck that doesn’t even have a shell on the back, so they’ll be sleeping under the stars. It doesn’t sound comfortable at all.

But the idea of Dean taking them back down in the dark sounds like the kind of harrowing experience he would rather not experience. Not when the drive up had already been mildly terrifying.

Plus, staying up here will give him the opportunity to sleep next to Dean. And that by itself is completely worth a few hours of discomfort and the prospect of a sore back in the morning. “Yes please,” he says. “Let’s stay up here tonight.”

Dean’s grin lights up the night brighter than the departed moon. “Awesome.”

He hops up in the back of the truck and starts rummaging around, and Castiel steps closer to see what he’s doing. Dean opens what looks like a giant toolbox, and pulls out two rolled bundles. One of them turns out to be an egg-crate foam pad that Dean unrolls into the truck bed. The other bundle is a very large blanket, and a thick body length pillow. Soon he’s got a bed set up, big enough for both of them.

“You’re prepared for everything,” Castiel says with a soft laugh. “Were you a boyscout?”

“Naw, just had a dad and a godfather who were both ex-military and leaned toward survivalist conspiracy theories.” He shakes his head fondly as he digs back into the box. “I’ve got some protein bars and bottled water in here too. I keep the truck stocked up in case of emergencies.”

Mention of food reminds Castiel that it has been many hours since dinner. His stomach grumble.

It’s loud enough for Dean to hear and toss him one of the protein bars. Then he grabs a bottle of water and settles down on the tailgate and begins to remove his shoes. “Leave your shoes up here when you take them off,” he advises when Castiel moves to join him. “Less chance of finding them full of unwanted guests in the morning.”

Castiel nods and then climbs up next to him. Once he’s barefoot, he pulls open the wrapper on the protein bar and starts nibbling at it. He accepts gratefully when Dean offers him the water bottle. “You know,” he says conversationally, once he’s swallowed his second bite of the bar and washed it down. “It’s not quite the same as one of Benny’s burgers, but I gotta say this is one of the best meals I’ve had in a while.”

Dean gives a disbelieving snort. “Those things taste like cardboard dipped in bad chocolate.”

It’s true, and Castiel almost chokes on his third bite when he laughs. He gestures around them with the half-eaten bar. “Yeah, but the location and the fantastic company makes all the difference.” He takes another bite of the protein bar, and makes a big deal of how tough it is to chew, which earns him a slow smile and a soft laugh that definitely adds to the experience.

After he finishes his snack, they settle back in the truck bed. The pillow is wide enough for them both to comfortably sleep without touching, but Dean snuggles close to him and spreads the blanket over both of them. Much to Castiel’s pleasure, although it feels strange to have someone’s head pillowed on his shoulder again. It’s been so long that he finds himself cataloguing the differences. The weight of Dean’s arm across Castiel’s chest is heavier, and his body is hot; something Castiel appreciates in the rapidly cooling night air. Hannah’s hair was long, and would sometimes tickle him in his sleep or wrap around his arm. Dean’s hair is short, and although he normally wears it spiked up a little at the top, it’s currently soft and fluffy with all the product washed out. It catches against Castiel’s stubble, and he nuzzles into it. 

A sense of contentment fills him. Dean’s breath is warm on his neck, and Castiel pulls him even closer. He traces random patterns on Dean’s back, which Dean enjoy’s very much if the way he sometimes arches against the touch is any indication. 

“It was a bomb.”

Castiel had been following a white pin of light that is probably a satellite cross the sky through heavy lidded eyes, slipping close to the edge of sleep when Dean whispers those words into the hollow of his throat. It takes him a moment to understand what he’s talking about. “That’s what happened to your knee?”

Dean is quiet for a long time, and now that Castiel is fully awake again he can sense the tension in the lean form pressed along his side. He stays silent, waiting for Dean to continue the story at his own pace.

When Dean speaks again, his voice is so low that Castiel has to strain to hear him despite how close they are. “My knee, the scars… It should have killed me. It got everyone else.”

Castiel has so many questions. But Dean’s voice holds a skittishness that makes him wary of pressing him for more. But he can’t say nothing at all. “I’m sorry.”

“It wasn’t immediate for all of them,” Dean says, louder, but shaking. “There was someone else who survived the blast. He had shrapnel in his--I tried to stop the bleeding but it was happening too fast… and--” he takes a shuddering breath. “He didn’t make it.”

“What was his name?” Castiel asks carefully. His imagination speeds through several highly unpleasant scenes, of Dean burned and bloody, bent over another fallen soldier. He worries that he’s pushing too hard, but Dean seems so open right now. He’s not sure they’ll ever have this opportunity to talk about it again. 

Dean lifts his head to look at Castiel. His expression is hidden in shadows, but his voice breaks slightly when he answers. “Timothy Cain.”

* * *

There’s a long pause, and Dean can practically hear the wheels turning in Castiel’s head as he gauges how safe it is to keep poking the bear. Apparently he determines, correctly, that Dean isn’t going to bite his head off, and he asks “Were you close?”

“He was my commanding officer,” Dean answers. They _were_ close though, probably more than appropriate. But from the moment they’d met there had been a kinship between them. “He was a tough son of a bitch, and he expected a lot from us. From me.” Especially from Dean. He couldn’t show any favoritism. “But he was the kind of guy that you want to do your best for. His respect meant a lot to me.” 

He pauses and takes a deep breath to ease the ache in his chest. “He kinda reminded me of my dad sometimes.”

Despite the tug of grief around his heart, he’s… okay talking about this. He’s not shaking, and doesn’t feel the fuzziness in his senses that warns of an impending attack. There’s a mild buzz in his fingertips, and he has to swallow several times to get the nausea to recede, but his voice had been mostly steady. Usually just thinking about that day is enough to send him spiraling, but the anxiety crawling under his skin is mild, and he’s in full control of himself.

He shifts his leg, feeling the pull of scars. There’s no phantom smell of burning flesh, or yellow and orange flickers at the edge of his vision. And when Castiel had touched him earlier it had been… fine. It had been strange being fully naked in front of him, because other than the nurses who cared for him, and the tattoo artist that covered the scars up, he hasn’t exposed that part of himself. And he sure as hell hasn’t let anyone touch him so intimately.

Just like he hasn’t talked to anyone else about this shit. Sam used to try and get him to open up about it, which is understandable since the only story he’d been given was the official report when he was informed of Dean’s injuries. When Dean had been moved to a hospital in the USA to continue the rest of his recovery, Sam had tried leveraging the puppy dog eyes, but Dean never cracked. 

Hell, not even his therapist got anything out of him. She had the report. She knew enough. He talked about his feelings, and he’s taken a lot of his current coping techniques from their sessions, but he never told her what happened in his own words. Which she insists may be why he’s struggled so hard with his PTSD. He’d been through months of therapy, including EMDR treatments, but none of it ever seemed to work.

He believed wholeheartedly that he just needed time. Something Pam had sighed at but eventually agreed with, although she still checks in on him at least once a month since their official sessions ended. 

He’s had plenty of time now. His injuries are healed, and he’d slipped back into the rhythm of life in Purgatory. Slowly the nightmares and panic attacks have receded, and he can go weeks without picturing the mangled faces and bodies of his squad, or hear their screams echoing in his ears at random times.

It’s been a night full of sharing and caring, and he’s a little raw. But he feels fine. Normal. The memories aren’t pulling him in, trapping him in his own mind. He’s _here_ , lying under the stars in the back of his truck, cuddled up to a hot guy who doesn’t show any disgust or fear over his scars and his shitty trauma. Castiel is warm and solid, his heart beating steadily under Dean’s ears as his fingers trace shapes on Dean’s back. He waits quietly, patiently, for Dean to tell him more, but he seems just as content with the quiet between them as Dean is. 

“Thank you,” Dean says into the bubble of quiet surrounding them.

“What for?” Castiel asks just as softly.

“For sticking around for a while,” Dean elaborates. “And for putting up with my friends, and letting me drive you up here…”

The hand tracing circles on Dean’s back goes still. Castiel shifts until they’re both on their sides, face to face, with Dean’s head still pillowed on his bicep. “You don’t need to thank me.” 

Without the half-moon, the stars aren’t quite enough to chase away the shadows over his face. But the warm affection in his voice is enough to chase away Dean’s sudden worry that Castiel has decided he’s got too much baggage to deal with.

Castiel reaches up and runs his fingers along the edge of Dean’s hair before brushing through it. His breath is warm in the space between them. “I’m glad to be here. With you.”

Heart pounding with too much _feeling_ , Dean leans in to kiss him. He misses, catching him on the chin first, but after a slight adjustment their lips meet. And if the way Castiel kisses him back is any sign, he might be feeling as overwhelmed as Dean is right now. Chest to chest, legs entangled, they kiss until they’re breathless. But their lips never part for long, coming together over and over again. Eventually the kisses shorten into soft pecks and slow drags. The kind of kisses that are full of need, but never tip over into anything more than another meeting of lips, and a tightening of their arms around each other.

Eventually instead of another kiss, they tip their foreheads together and just breathe. Castiel smells like mineral water, clean and fresh over the heat of his skin. Dean wants to bury his nose against Castiel’s throat and immerse himself in his scent.

He can feel sleep tugging at him, because it’s probably closer to stupid o’clock in the morning than it is to midnight now. But there’s a question burning inside of him that can’t wait until the sun rises. “Where do we go from here?”

“Well…” Castiel takes a deep breath, filling his lungs until their chests and stomachs press tight before letting it out in a long, warm sigh. His voice is thoughtful when he continues. “I think sleep would be a good idea at this point. Then a trip down the mountain in the morning.” He pauses, and Dean can picture his typical head-tilt and squinty-eyed expression even if he doesn’t move. “Not sure I’m looking forward to that part, to be honest.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Big baby,” he mutters. “And that’s not what I meant. I mean us. Where do _we_ go from here?” _How long will you stay in Purgatory? How long until you decide the small town life isn’t for you, and it’s time for you to move on again?_

“That depends.” 

He sounds hesitant, and Dean’s heart clenches painfully.

“There’s something here, Dean,” Castiel continues. “Something almost… profound. And I want to explore it with you. If you want that too, then I’m going to stay here as long as it takes to see where things go for us.”

Dean lets out the breath he was holding. “Yeah, I… I want that.”

“Then it’s settled,” Castiel murmurs. “I’ll need to work out some logistics… but sleep first? It can’t be too long until morning.”

He does sound tired, now that Dean’s paying attention. Dean still feels wound up, but insomnia has been his companion for a while. Castiel is going to learn that about him soon enough, and Dean will need to figure out how to deal with it while having another person sharing his life. 

He’s pleasantly surprised to discover that he’s looking forward to it.

“Yeah,” he says softly. “Sleep first.”

They settle back into the position they’d started in, with Castiel on his back and Dean curled into his side. Castiel’s heartbeat is a steady thud under Dean’s ear, and his chest rises gently on each breath, lulling Dean as it slows and evens out with sleep. As his eyelids begin to droop, and lethargy slips over him Dean’s last amused thought is that insomnia won’t be a problem tonight.

* * *

Sunlight peeking over the edge of the truck bed wakes Dean. Having bright light pierce through his eyelids is startling and painful, and his body reacts on instinct. He jerks upright and one arm comes up to shield his face while the other searches for a weapon.

It’s only when he finds a warm body instead of his rifle that he realizes where he is.

Disturbed by the thud of Dean’s hand against his chest, Castiel groans and stretches like a giant cat. Watching him stretch out his toes and fingers makes Dean smile a little, and it does more to anchor him to the present than the familiar sight of his truck bed and the view of the valley below. 

“Morning already?” Castiel mumbles. His eyes blink open slowly, but as soon as the fall on Dean, the peaceful sleepiness is immediately replaced by concern and he sits up. “Dean, are you alright?”

When Castiel’s hand gently presses against his spine, Dean realizes he’s panting like he’s been running. He stays focused on Castiel’s eyes, and how pretty they sparkle in the light of the new day. It keeps him centered enough that he’s able to do the breathing exercises Pam drilled into his head. Breath in, 1-2-3-4-5-6, breathe out, 1-2-3-4-5-6. It only takes a few repetitions before he’s feeling more like himself, and he’s able to give Castiel a reassuring nod. “Yeah,” he says when the anxiety recedes enough to let him speak. “I’m good, just… sometimes waking up is hard.”

Instead of showing the pity he expects, Castiel only nods with understanding and rubs Dean’s back gently. And then a decidedly wicked light glints in his eyes. “Waking up hard is much more fun when you wake up next to someone who can take care of it for you,” he says suggestively.

Shocked at the sudden turn, Dean throws his head back and laughs. “That was horrible,” he gasps through his laughter.

Castiel doesn’t show an ounce of shame. He only smiles wider, the gummy kind of grin that always makes Dean’s stomach do weird swoopy things. And suddenly kissing Castiel seems more important than anything in the world. He twists, leaning into Castiel who falls back on the egg-crate foam with a boyish giggle that makes Dean’s stomach swoop again. He straddles Castiel’s hips, and grins triumphantly when Castiel’s eyes go dark and his lips part on a gasp. Dean feels what’s either morning wood, or a sign that Castie’s happy to see him, and he grinds down just to hear Castiel gasp again.

“You might have a point,” Dean whispers just before he leans down and catches Castiel’s lips with his own.

It doesn’t take long before the rapid beat of his heart is caused by something altogether more pleasant than anxiety.

Castiel’s hands grapple at Dean’s thighs, his fingers digging in until he has a good grip that he uses to guide Dean’s hips in a slow grind against his own. Dean relishes the ache, hoping he’ll end up with a few marks to enjoy later. He’s never thought of himself as the submissive type, but there’s something aggressive, almost possessive in the way Castiel touches him, and he already craves more. He wants to be overwhelmed, overwrought, and he suspects Castiel will give him that. 

If he wasn’t sprawled on top of Cas, Dean thinks he might drop to his knees and beg for it. Which is a revelation that he’ll poke at later. For now, he’s too distracted by the slow slide of Castiel’s tongue against his own, and the rough drag of denim on denim as they grind together like horny teenagers.

It’s not enough. Not nearly enough. And the remaining adrenaline in his veins from his anxiety gives him a little aggression of his own to work out. He sits up, grinning viciously when Castiel growls in protest. 

When he tries to move, Castiel’s grip tightens, holding him in place. Dean grabs his wrists, exerting just enough pressure to free himself, and he adds a wink to show that he doesn’t mind the rough treatment. When Castiel releases him, he shimmies down until he has access to the fly of Castiel’s jeans. 

Where Castiel’s tshirt rides up, Dean catches sight of the tail end of a pink scar marring the skin of his belly. He remembers the gentle way Castiel had run his palm over the burn scars on his hip, and he takes a small detour to kiss the puckered skin. The muscles jump under his lips, and Castiel makes a breathy noise. Dean peeks up at him through his lashes, and smiles when he sees something warm and awed in Castiel’s eyes.

They’re getting dangerously close to having A Moment, and while Dean is on board for that eventually, he has a goal in mind. After one more soft kiss to the scar, he sinks his teeth into the undamaged skin just above the waistband of Castiel’s jeans, and he gets back to more pleasurable business. Making quick work of the buttons--whoever designed these didn’t consider how quickly they’d need to be unfasted for sex--he pushes the cloth down until Castiel’s hard cock is exposed to the morning sunlight.

Saliva floods Dean’s mouth. Castiel’s got a very pretty cock. Thick and uncut, the head damp and peeking out from the foreskin. He’d explored it by touch last night, but there’s nothing quite like getting to admire it in the light of day. And he wants it in him. Mouth or ass, he ain’t picky.

Okay that’s a lie, he _absolutely_ wants to ride Castiel into a sweaty panting mess, but he doesn’t consider a blowie as settling for less.

Castiel looks down at himself, hard and eager in the golden light of the sunrise, and then at Dean. One dark brow arches high. “Well, now what are you going to do with it?”

Christ, no one should have a voice that sexy. And it should be illegal to use it for that kind of a challenge.

But challenge fucking accepted, all the same. Dean responds by bending down and licking a stripe from the base of Castiel’s cock to the leaking tip, maintaining eye contact the whole time.

That seems to put Castiel in his place. He squeezes his eyes shut and a moan rumbles up from his throat. But his eyes pop open again almost immediately, pinning Dean with their burning intensity. “Again,” he commands.

The power in that single word sends goosebumps racing over Dean’s skin, and he’s quick to obey. Castiel tastes clean and warm, and the curly nest of hair at the base of his cock tickles Dean’s chin. He nuzzles into it, inhaling the musky scent while nibbling at Castiel’s sack for a moment before working his way back up. When he reaches the head, he swirls his tongue lightly against the edge of Castiel’s foreskin before ducking down to suckle the head between his lips, gentle and slow, before releasing it.

“Christ,” Castiel mutters as he reaches for Dean, fingers curling into his t-shirt. “Are you just going to tease me?”

“Thinkin’ about it,” Dean says before laving over the head of Castiel’s cock again. He hums at the taste, and licks his lips, smirking when Castiel’s eyes go dark and predatory.

“Dean,” Castiel says… and then hoarsely, as if it pains him to say it. “Please.”

Fuck, Dean had expected an order, or maybe for Castiel to grab his head and shove his cock down his throat. But instead he’s on the verge of begging, which is all kinds of hot.

And he’s not going to drag this out, not when he wants to feel Castiel’s girth stretching his jaw. But he _is_ a tease, so he swirls his tongue around the head one more time, chuckling when Castiel’s head drops back on the pillow and he lets out a choked whimper. That’s enough of a cue for him, and he opens his mouth wide and takes Castiel as deep as he can. He suckles gently as he strokes the rest with his hand, and his eyes slip closed as he savors the taste on his tongue. As he bobs his head slowly up and down, Castiel makes soft pleased sounds that are accompanied by the jingle of Dean’s dog tags as they bounce against Castiel’s inner thigh.

One of Castiel’s hands settles on the back of Dean’s neck. He doesn’t exert any pressure, but his thumb brushes back and forth over the shell of Dean’s ear. It’s a sensitive spot, and each stroke sends little jolts of pleasure down his spine. Castiel’s thumb goes still when Dean takes a deep breath and dips down, taking him deeper into his throat.

It’s been a very long time, longer than Dean cares to think about, since he’s done this. He works slowly, testing out the edges of his gag reflex. He breathes through his nose, taking in the heady scent of Castiel’s arousal on each inhale and taking his cock a little deeper on the exhale. Castiel’s cock is average in length, but thick enough to make Dean’s jaw muscles strain. But he doesn’t stop until the tip of his nose presses into the dark curly hair of his groin.

“Oh fuck, yes,” Castiel hisses. His hand tightens on the back of Dean’s neck.

Dean’s gag reflex ruins the moment, and he has to pull off completely. He coughs a little, and then grins when he meets Castiel’s gaze. Blue eyes blink back at him in daze, although his brow still furrows in concern. “Sorry,” Dean says, his voice a little broken from having a dick in his mouth. “It’s been a while.”

Castiel’s laugh is half strangled. “You have _no reason_ to apologize.”

“Oh yeah?” Dean starts stroking Castiel. “You want me to keep going?”

Castiel pins him with a hot look. “You really have to ask?”

Now he’s just being a dick, but he can’t help it. Castiel’s squinty annoyance is really doing it for him. “Spell it out for me, Cas.”

Without warning, Castiel surges up and grips Dean’s face between his hands. His kiss is hard and rough, invading Dean’s mouth with his tongue. As he pulls back, he clamps down on Dean’s bottom lip, letting it drag through his teeth. The bite isn’t hard enough to hurt, but it certainly gets his attention. When Castiel finally releases his lip, his lust blown eyes drill into Dean’s. “I want you to suck my cock…” his eyes drop to Dean’s mouth, and he thumbs roughly at Dean’s bottom lip, “with this hot fucking mouth of yours.”

Well, that’s clear enough. “Yes, sir.”

Castiel’s eyes darken even further, and he kisses Dean one more time before using his grip to push Dean down toward his cock again. Chuckling darkly, Dean takes Castiel back into his mouth.

With a stuttering groan, Castiel falls back again. He runs his fingers through Dean’s hair, while his hips twitch and jerk with each stroke of Dean’s lips. And he keeps up a steady stream of highly complimentary encouragement between gasps and curses.

Dean tunes all his focus on Castiel, paying attention to the hitches in his voice, and the way his muscles lock up or relax. Whenever he thinks Castiel might be getting close, he pulls off, smiling at Castiel’s inventive cursing each time. His own cock is hard and uncomfortable, confined in his jeans, and when he can’t resist any longer he fumbles with one hand until he’s free and can stroke himself.

The taste and feel of Castiel’s cock on his tongue, the stretch of his jaw, and the constant litany of dirty praise brings him close to the edge. He stops touching himself, digging his fingers into Castiel’s thigh.

Castiel lets out a hoarse sound. “Please, Dean.”

With a wet slurp, Dean let’s Castiel’s cock slip out from between his lips. “Take what you need, Cas,” he says before swallowing him back down again.

With a growl, Castiel takes. He guides Dean’s motions with a hand on the back of his neck, and thrusts up into his mouth, deep, but Dean’s throat has grown accustomed to his cock and he no longer worries about choking. He concentrates on breathing, and let’s Castiel fuck between his lips.

Castiel’s cock twitches, and grows firmer against Dean’s tongue. His grip shifts, and he makes a feeble attempt to push Dean away, but Dean resists. 

He’s rewarded for his stubbornness as hot, bitter fluid fills his mouth, and he swallows on instinct. His hand goes to his cock again, and with Castiel’s flavor fresh on his tongue, he finds his own release after only a few strokes. He let’s Castiel’s cock slip from his lips, and curls in on himself with the power of his orgasm.

After a few shuddering breathes, Dean thinks his muscles are ready to cooperate with him again and he crawls up over Castiel’s body and kisses him. He remembers as their lips touch that he just had a mouthful of jizz and hesitates, but Castiel grabs his head with both hands and pushes into the kiss, licking into Dean’s mouth as if chasing his own flavor.

Well hell. If Castiel’s cool with it, then Dean is more than willing to share with him. He carefully lowers his weight over Castiel’s body and settles in for a post-blowie makeout session.

The kissing eventually slows down, and after one last soft peck that leans dangerously into _nuzzling_ territory, Dean tucks his head down under Castiel’s chin and listens to him breathing. Dean is taller, and he knows he’s no featherweight, but Castiel’s arms rest loosely around his back, seemingly content to keep him where he is. It should probably be awkward, or at the very least uncomfortable for two grown men to cuddle like this, but it isn’t, because their bodies fit each other.

Is this what it was like for Castiel when he was with Hannah? 

As soon as he thinks it, Dean curses himself for being an idiot. 

For fuck’s sake, he can still taste Castiel on the back of his tongue, _why_ is he thinking about the ex-wife?

But he’d seen the longing in Castiel’s eyes when he talked about her last night. It’s as obvious as daylight that Castiel really loved her. When he’d lost her, he turned to drugs to ease the heartache. And he hasn’t been off them for very long, so he’s still in recovery.

Dean wonders what that depth of feeling for another person is like. He’s never been in love before, at least he doesn’t think so. There was one person he’d gotten serious enough with that he thought it might have been love. He’d spent one happy year with Lisa and her son Ben, but when he’d been deployed, the calls had grown fewer and farther between. Until one call, in the middle of the night for him and while Ben was still at school back in the states, they finally admitted that what they felt was only friendship and attraction. The next time he was stateside, she helped him move into his own place. 

It hurt, and he’d definitely been mopey for a month or so. But he’d only spent his first night alone in his apartment drowning his sorrows. Alcoholism runs in the Winchester genes, so he thinks if he’d really been in love with her, one drunken night would not have been enough.

There’s something swelling inside his chest, something almost too big to think about. But he knows it’s there because of Castiel. It already feels bigger and more absolute than what he’d felt for Lisa. And he thinks maybe, just maybe, he’s going to learn exactly what love feels like if he’s not careful.

He doesn’t think he wants to be careful though. There’s something about Castiel that brings back some of those wild and reckless urges that he thought he’d left behind in his teen years. It was that feeling of excitement and possibility that had made him throw a duffel of towels and swim trunks in the truck before picking Castiel up for their date, and what made him risk scaring the guy off by driving him up the side of a mountain that really shouldn’t be driven up by any sane person.

He thinks he should probably be worried about that. He’s only known Castiel for barely more than a week now. Sure, they’ve bonded some over their Big Bad Secrets, but what about the little things? How does Castiel feel about politics? Religion and kids? Will they fight? Does Cas hold grudges? Who takes out the trash, and what constitutes a _clean_ kitchen? 

That last thought kicks him out of his spiral, and he chuckles softly. God, he’s such a fucking dope sometimes. If Cas falls for a dumbass like Dean, he only has himself to blame for his own suffering.

“What?” Castiel rumbles.

“I was wondering whether you let dishes pile up in the sink,” Dean admits. Castiel’s head comes up from the pillow, dislodging Dean from his warm spot under his chin. From this angle, Castiel’s squinty face is even cuter. The double chin really adds to the look. “You don’t have to answer that,” he says with a grin. “It’s just idle speculation.”

Castiel’s head thumps back down on the pillow, but Dean can still see a flash of teeth when he smiles. “No, it’s fine,” Castiel says. “I guess it would depend on whose turn it is to clean the kitchen. “Hanah--uh… I’ve lived with someone who isn’t much of a clean freak, so I’d probably clean it up out of habit. But it would get old if it happened a lot.”

Dean viciously shoves down a surge of jealousy. He’s never had a green-eyed demon riding his back this hard before, and he’s starting to get really fucking annoyed by himself.

Just another sign that he’s already got a stronger connection with Cas than he’s ever had with anyone else before.

But he definitely needs to lighten the hell up. He’d noticed the flash of uncertainty when Castiel mentioned Hannah, and he doesn’t want to be the kind of guy that Castiel has to tiptoe around certain subjects with. “It sounds like Hannah’s got nothin’ on my mad dishwashing skills,” he teases. “But the real question is how do you feel about cat fur? Because Lore sheds like crazy, and I think she likes you.”

Castiel’s lips curve up in a small, grateful smile. And he starts drawing random shapes on Dean’s shoulders, something that Dean suspects he does when he’s feeling especially affectionate. “I think you like me,” he murmurs. “Are you going to shed on me too?”

“No, but you might get a little greasy when I hug you,” Dean says with a wink. 

“Well I can deal with cat fur and car grease,” Castiel says warmly. His fingers pause mid-shape on Dean’s shoulder, then start up their soft stroking again. “Why does it feel like you’re fishing for something?”

Busted. Time to break out the truth. “I’m trying to find something about you that I won’t like,” he admits. “Because right now? I’m having a hard time talking myself out of keeping you forever.”

Castiel tenses, and his fingers go still on Dean’s shoulders. 

Fuck, _fuck,_ does he think Dean forgot about the drug problem? Does he think Dean’s brushing something like that off?

To his consternation, Castiel shifts like he wants to be free. Dean rolls to the side and watches warily as Castiel sits up. Despite the rising warmth of the morning, he feels cold in all the places they’d been pressed together.

Castiel doesn’t look at Dean as he straightens his clothes. He runs his fingers through his hair several times, leaving it a tangled mess when he drops his hands and rolls his head on his shoulders.

Reluctantly, Dean also tucks himself back into his jeans and sits up too. Fathomless blue eyes watch him, and they face off silently for several long moments. Dean wants to say something, anything, to cut through that silence, but he’s afraid he’ll say something stupid and make things worse. At this point he might as well just keep his mouth shut and let Castiel take the lead.

“Just how serious are you about ‘keeping me’?” Castiel eventually asks. 

And the dork actually uses air quotes. He needs to stop doing shit like that, or Dean’ll be a goner in no time.

Slowly, because he’s unsure whether he’ll rebuffed or not, Dean reaches out and takes Castiel’s hand. He rubs his thumbs in a gentle massage over Castiel’s knuckles as he gives the question serious consideration. 

He already knows what he wants, which is… intimidating actually. This growing certainty is something he’s never experienced before, and he wonders how Castiel is tangling himself up in Dean’s heart so quickly. 

What he feels right now is big. Almost too big. And he wonders if that should send him screaming for the hills. 

An old conversation he had with Sammy when he met Eileen rises up in Dean’s memory. He’d been almost manic when he’d called Dean, going off on a barely coherent rant about how shitty his history with romance had been. He’d lost his first love to fire, and had his ability to trust, and his life, destroyed by the second when she lured him into the drug scene. And there’d been that rebound chick who turned out to be married. If anyone had a reason to panic about falling in love again, it’s Sam. 

_“So you gonna ask her out or what?” Dean had asked when Sam wound down._

_The silence on the line stretched for so long that Dean was about to check to make sure the connection hadn’t dropped. But then Sam had whispered “No one ever falls in love without being a little brave.”_

Sam’s a smart fuckin’ kid. And sometimes he’s so brave, and so good, that even though Dean is the older brother, _he_ looks up to _Sam._ Eileen is the best thing that’s ever happened to Sam, and Dean is so very grateful to have her as part of the family. 

No one ever falls in love without being a little brave. Good advice, Sammy.

Dean takes a deep breath, and looks into Castiel’s eyes. “I haven’t had many serious relationships,” he says. “Mostly because I was so busy with my military career, and then I came back home and I _know_ everyone.” He laughs, shaking his head at the idea of trying to rekindle the flame with Benny, or asking Jo or Ash out. No thank you very much. “So I’ve never found what I was looking for in a partner.”

Castiel tilts his head, but he doesn’t look confused, only curious. “What are you looking for in a partner?”

Feeling shy, Dean looks down at Castiel’s hand in his. He’s been distracted by his own nerves about the conversation, and didn’t realize he’d been giving Castiel a hand massage. Tilting his head down further to hide his smile, he presses his thumbs into Castiel’s palm, watching as his fingers curl inward. 

“Someone I can look up to,” he says, and then pauses to think. “Someone brave.” He glances up through his lashes, and gives him his most flirty smile. The one that gets all kinds of underwear to drop. “Someone handsome.”

Castiel’s laugh feels like a gift. But Dean doesn’t add “nice laugh” to his list, because he might develop lactose intolerance if he gets too cheesy. 

“Anything else?” Castiel prompts.

Dean drops his gaze back down to their hands. He lifts Castiel’s hand and places a kiss in the center of his palm, and then laces their fingers together. “Honestly? I want someone I can be friends with. My mom always said find your best friend and marry them, and that’s always stuck with me, you know?” He risks another glance up, and finds Castiel watching him with laser focus. “I think we could have that.”

Castiel squeezes Dean’s hand. “Yes, we can. And those are all things I’m looking for too.”

“Yeah, but you found me instead,” Dean mutters. “At least I’ve got a pretty face, I guess.”

“Dean,” Castiel scolds softly. “You’re definitely something special. And the more I get to know you, the more I know that staying here is the right choice.”

“What if you start missing home?” Dean asks, completely unplanned. But it’s an obstacle they may need to face eventually. Might as well rip that bandaid off now. 

Castiel doesn’t answer right away, and Dean peeks up to find him looking out over the valley. The sun is inching steadily toward midday, and there’s a heat haze over Purgatory making it look like a blurry smear on the landscape. “I like it here,” Castiel finally says. Then he looks at Dean and smiles warmly. “It’s starting to feel a bit like home.”

Dean stares at him in disbelief. 

Castiel laughs at whatever he sees going on with Dean’s face. “I haven’t always lived in Boston,” he explains. “My parents have a place in the country. I kind of like small town life.”

“There’s towns as small as Purgatory in Massachusetts?” 

“Close enough.”

Dean is doubtful, but he’ll reserve judgement. “Uh huh.”

“I’ll show you someday, if you want,” Castiel says. But then his eyes turn serious. “Are you sure I’m what you want? I mean… someone brave? Someone to look up to? I’m not--”

When Castiel tries to extricate his hand Dean grips it tight, refusing to let him pull away. “You are. What you went through… what you’re still dealing with. I know it’s not easy, man. But you’re doing it.”

“One day at a time,” Castiel says so softly that Dean doesn’t think it’s meant for him. It sounds like a mantra. He fills his lungs and lets out a gusting sigh. “Thank you, Dean. That means a lot.”

“I’m here for you if you need me,” Dean promises. “I want you to know that.”

Castiel’s fingers grip Dean’s almost painfully tight. “That goes both ways.”

Dean’s chest tightens uncomfortably at the idea of talking about his own problems more than he already has. It’s difficult enough talking to Pam about any of it, and even confiding in Sam is too much even though his brother would gladly listen to anything Dean wants to share with him. He’s both surprised at and proud of himself for sharing even part of the story with Castiel. And even if he can’t ever give more information than he already has, Castiel’s offer to be there for him holds a lot of weight. 

“Thank you,” he says, glad that his voice doesn’t waver.

A crooked smile tugs at Castiel’s mouth. “Aren’t we a pair of dumbasses?” he teases.

 _Troubled. Less dumb. Less ass._ Dean snickers at the callback, but refuses to play along. “You said it, not me.”

Castiel rolls his eyes, but doesn’t argue. 

They fall into a comfortable silence, and Dean thinks that even though they’re both slightly broken, that maybe if they work together they can pick up the pieces and patch up the rough spots. Or maybe they can build something all new.

“So, does this mean I can tell my mother that I’m staying here with my boyfriend?” Castiel asks.

Dean blinks at him. _Boyfriend._ He rolls the word around in his head. The term has always seemed a little tweeny for his taste, but for them it feels right. Using his grip on Castiel’s hand, Dean tugs him closer, grinning. “Hell yeah.”

Before Dean can kiss him, a growl makes both of their eyes drop to Castiel’s stomach. 

“Sorry,” Castiel says with a laugh. “That protein bar was a long time ago.”

With a fond eyeroll, Dean rolls away and digs through his provisions for another protein bar that he tosses to Castiel. “That should hold you over for now.” He scoots to the tailgate and starts putting his shoes on. “Let’s get back to Purgatory, and then we can have some real food.”

He doesn’t try to hide the goofy smile he can feel stretching his cheeks as Castiel scrambles to join him. And seeing that Castiel’s wearing the same crush-drunk grin makes his day all the brighter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to use NaNo to finish this, since I have about 50k left. This may or may not result in delays or faster posting. It depends on if I feel like editing after all that writing :)
> 
> Day 3 and so far I'm at 7,308 / 50,000! :D


	19. Chapter 19

When he actually sees the path down the mountain Castiel’s eyes slam shut. One hand scrambles for the oh shit handle above the door, and the other grips at the edge of his seat. But his eyes pop open again almost immediately because not being able to see where they’re going as Dean guides the truck down what barely constitutes a path seems infinitely worse.

“You okay there, buddy?” 

Castiel tears his eyes away from the steep path outside the windshield and finds Dean grinning, a slightly mad glint in his eyes. “Just peachy,” he grunts.

Dean’s laugh is manic, and a reluctant smile tugs at Castiel’s lips. He looks out the window again, takes a deep steadying breath, and once again puts his faith in Dean. He silently acknowledges that this is starting to become a pattern.

And Dean doesn’t let him down. They make it in one piece to an actual road, mostly gravel and full of pits and small boulders, but the truck’s nose is no longer pointing too close to straight down for comfort. 

When he sighs in relief, Dean hears and shoots him an amused look. A helpless laugh wracks Castiel, and Dean joins him. 

“Told ya.”

“Shut up and drive, Dean.”

After a delighted chuckle, Dean obeys. He reaches over and turns the radio back on, and pushes in the tape of classic rock they’d listened to on the way up last night. 

They spend the drive back to Purgatory in companionable silence, that Castiel feels no need to fill with small talk. He tends to be somewhat quiet anyway, usually content to sit back and let conversation flow around him. Since he’s come to Purgatory he’s had a lot more conversation than he’s accustomed to, especially since he’d ridden away from Boston and never settled in one place for more than a night. And exchanging meaningless pleasantries with motel clerks and waitresses hardly counts as conversation. 

It’s nice to have people to talk to, and he’s been enjoying getting to know the people of Purgatory, and Dean specifically, very much. But being able to sit in Dean’s presence without having anything to say fills him with a warm contentment. Hannah hated silence, and would fill it with chatter about her day, her friends, her family, the book she was currently reading, the new recipe she planned to try that weekend. It never seemed like she needed Castiel to participate in the conversation in most cases, and she was happy as long as he listened. And he did listen. Hannah’s voice is lovely and soothing. He’d never begrudged her chattiness, and she always knew when to leave him alone during his migraines. They had a good system going.

With Dean he actually engages fully in the conversation, and they don’t seem to fall victim to awkward pauses where they try to keep it going past the natural end of the subject. It’s been a two way exchange the whole time they’ve been acquainted, but now that neither of them has anything to say it still feels organic and comfortable. Like they’re both resting, waiting for the next wave to hit them and send them into mutual tangents again.

He wonders vaguely if it’s wrong to keep comparing Dean and Hannah. It isn’t as if he’s looking for ways in which one or the other is better. Instead, he notices the differences and marvels at them. But he does wish he hadn’t slipped and mentioned Hannah earlier. Dean had taken it in stride, but Castiel worries about giving him a complex if he thinks Castiel is measuring Dean against Hannah. Especially since he isn’t entirely sure how Dean feels about Castiel being bisexual.

He’s been ribbed by both his straight and his gay friends for his preferences. They thought he could never settle his affections on one person without missing something in his sex life. Which is ridiculous, of course. He loves… loved… Hannah deeply, and there had never been anything lacking in the bedroom. But how will Dean feel about it? Their relationship is new, and Castiel doesn’t want to give him reason for doubt. So he’ll do his best to keep his comparisons between his ex wife and Dean to himself.

And he’s rather preoccupied with his relationship with Dean right now anyway. A delighted smile keeps creeping up on him every time he thinks _boyfriend._ It’s a little weird, since he’d only ever dated one guy before he met Hannah, and they’d kept it quiet since they both still had one foot in the closet at the time. He wants to say it aloud a few times, just to get used to the feel of it in his mouth. But Dean doesn’t seem to think he’s mentally cracked yet, and Castiel isn’t going to give him a reason to start.

That doesn’t stop him from thinking it though. And smiling about it. A lot.

When the edges of Purgatory come into sight Dean turns down the radio. “Do you want breakfast at the diner? Or we could stop at my place. I’ve got Corn Pops and Lucky Charms.” He glances at the clock and grimaces. “Or brunch, I guess. It’s not exactly cereal o’clock anymore.”

The idea of sitting at Dean’s little table, eating cereal, with their bare feet slotted together, and maybe a cat in his lap, is massively appealing. “Corn Pops sound terrific.” He knows he made the right decision when Dean beams at him, warm and affectionate.

“We’ll need to stop at the store.” Dean turns back to the road, although his smile doesn’t fade even slightly. “I think I’m out of milk.”

They’re already in town at this point, and the grocery store is only another block down the road. They pull into the lot, which is mostly empty. It’s still morning, even if the sun is quickly on its way to its zenith, so Castiel isn’t too surprised that there aren’t many people out yet. Especially on a Saturday in a small town, when people are probably recovering from Friday’s late night. 

A bell over the door tinkles merrily as they enter, and a young woman looks up from where she’s busy setting up a display at the end of one of the aisles. “Dean! Hi!” she says brightly when her eyes land on him. She looks eagerly to Castiel, and her expression falls as if she were hoping to see someone else.

“Mornin’, Becky.” Dean waves at her as he grabs a hand basket. “Didn’t see you at the Roadhouse last night.”

She sighs dramatically. “Homework,” she says glumly. “I’d been putting it off to the last minute.”

“Probably for the best then, gotta get your money out of those online classes” Dean says. He gestures at Castiel. “This is Cas. He’s new in town. Cas, this is Becky.”

Despite the flash of disappointment she’d directed at him earlier, Becky is exuberantly friendly. She immediately wants to know everything about him, and isn’t shy about asking him every question on her mind. Dean winks at him over her head, and takes off toward the refrigerated section to pick up milk, leaving Castiel alone with the young woman.

Eventually Castiel makes his escape when Becky needs to help another customer check out their groceries. Dean materializes at his side, and Castiel raises a brow at him. “Why do I feel like you used me to distract her?”

“Because I did.” Dean grins unrepentantly as he leads the way to the cash register. He leans in close to whisper in Castiel’s ear once they’re in line. “Sorry… I’ll make it up to you later.”

Castiel rolls his eyes, but doesn’t bother to suppress his amusement. Dean purses his lips in a kissy face, because apparently he’s a sassy flirt, and then takes his place in front of the register as Becky starts scanning his items. Castiel tucks his hands in his back pockets while he waits, and lets his eyes wander aimlessly. He snaps back to attention when his eyes land on a box of condoms just as Becky is reaching for them to be scanned.

The stream of chatter she’d started up about her freshman classes as soon as Dean was in front of her, and that Castiel had tuned out, comes to a halt. She stares down at the box, then looks up at Dean who winks at her and tilts his head at Castiel with a meaningful bounce of his eyebrows.

Maybe he should feel uncomfortable when Becky’s wide eyes slide his way, but all he feels is smug. He’s pretty sure she has a crush on Dean by the way she’s been beaming at him since he walked into the store. It’s not really Castiel’s style to smash a young woman’s dreams, but seeing the realization dawn in her eyes really hammers home that Dean is _his_ now. 

When his lips twitch up into a grin, she blinks at him and turns scarlet all the way up to the roots of her hair. Coughing a little, she ducks her head and scans the box. Her constant chatter starts back up again, but she sounds flustered and she keeps her eyes on her hands.

“I think you just broke her heart,” Castiel says once they’re back in Dean’s truck.

Dean snorts as he turns the key in the ignition. “Maybe her brain, but not her heart.” He twists in his seat, latching an arm over the seat so he can watch where he’s going as he backs out of the parking space. “She has a huge crush on Sammy, and she only likes me because she hopes he’ll either be with me, or I’ll talk about him.” Once they’re on the road again, he slants a wicked grin in Castiel’s direction. “I don’t think she knew my preferences until just now.”

The thread of doubt about how his orientation would be accepted that Castiel had quashed earlier sparks under his sternum again. “So you’re not attracted to women?” he asks, glad when he manages to sound casual.

“I like the ladies, and the fellas.” Dean lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “I had something going with a woman when I was enlisted, but it didn’t last long. And I definitely don’t like bubbly college girls.” He casts a glance that sparkles with mischief in Castiel’s direction. “But I’m more interested in the fellas, and I prefer when they’re closer to my own age.”

It’s a relief to learn that Dean shares his sexual preferences. A weight he wasn’t fully conscious of lifts from his chest. He smiles through his relief, and asks “how old are you, anyway?”

“Thirty,” Dean answers. “You?”

“Thirty-two. And definitely not a bubbly college girl.”

Dean barks a laugh. “No, no, I got that.” The look he gives Castiel is heated. “But if you ever want to play dress up, I wouldn’t complain.”

Castiel’s eyebrows pop up in surprise. That’s something he’s never considered doing before, but now his mind goes into overdrive with all the possible options. “Really?” he croaks. 

A pink flush spreads over Dean’s cheeks, and he keeps his eyes on the road. His voice is overly casual. “Got a couple pairs of silky panties you can try on if you’re curious.”

“You do?” Castiel probably sounds like a moron, but Dean has short circuited his brain.

“Yeah, sometimes I wanna feel…” Dean clears his throat. “You know… pretty.”

Castiel’s eyes nearly cross when he realizes that Dean wears them himself. _Fuck._

Shifting in his seat to relieve some of the discomfort of too-tight jeans, he says “I would be open to that. You or… I mean, me too.”

He’s rewarded with another hot look and a smile, and he has to work his tongue inside his suddenly dry mouth. God, Dean makes him feel like a randy teenager. They’ve already had sex twice in the span of less than twelve hours, and now he’s already thinking about bending Dean over the next available surface once they get back to his house. 

It feels great, actually. He can’t stop grinning, so he turns his head to watch out the window for the last few blocks before they reach Dean’s house. 

His plan to pounce on Dean is thrown out the window as soon as they walk into the house. The little table in the open area just inside is occupied by Sam and Jo, the latter jumping up and looking like a dark storm cloud as soon as the door opens. 

“Where the hell have you been?” she snaps. 

Sam reaches up and puts a hand on her arm as if to hold her back. He looks tired, but he smiles at them. “Hey guys, good morning.”

Dean’s puzzled gaze sweeps over both of them, but he addresses Jo’s demand first. “We went up to the hot springs,” he says. “What are you two doing here?”

“You could have said something before you left,” Jo grinds out at the same time Sam says “Jo was worried when you weren’t in the shop this morning.”

“It’s Saturday,” Dean says. “We’re closed.”

“I needed to finish up that brake job,” Jo grumbles.

He gives her a mystified look. “You have your own keys to the garage.”

She turns bright red, and crosses her arms over her chest. “Look, I was worried okay? You weren’t answering your phone.” More quietly she adds “and your truck wasn’t at the motel.”

Dean pulls it out, and checks the screen. He waggles it at her. “Battery’s dead.”

Behind her, Sam rolls his eyes and gives Dean an apologetic look. “Well it looks like you’re fine.” He winks at Castiel over Jo’s head as he rises to his feet. Lore jumps down from his lap, and comes to rub figure eights around Dean’s ankles, purring like a little truck engine, much happier to see Dean than Jo seems to be at the moment. Sam cups his hands over Jo’s shoulders and starts herding her toward the door, which only serves to deepen her scowl. “You’re both fine. And since _everyone’s fine_ \--” he directs at Jo, “it looks like I’m not needed here.”

Castiel and Dean step apart, allowing Sam and Jo to pass between them on the way out. Castiel sees Sam mouth _sorry_ to Dean, who just rolls his eyes heavenward as if asking for divine patience before mouthing _me too._ A whole silent conversation passes between them in the sparse seconds before Sam ushers Jo outside. 

Before the door swings shut behind them Castiel hears Jo say “It could have been serious!”

Sam responds “yeah but it wasn’t, so chill out.” And then the door clicks shut.

“Jesus,” Dean sighs as he heads for the kitchen. Lore trots in his wake, meowing brightly like she’s trying to share gossip about his time away.

Castiel follows as well, leaning against the counter as Dean puts away the extra items he’d bought. Lore loses interest in Dean and comes over to sniff at his pant legs, and he bends down to scratch between her ears until she loses interest in him and goes back to Dean for more attention. “Do they have a reason to worry if you disappear?”

Dean scoops up Lore as he shuts the fridge door and nuzzles between her ears. “Not really,” he says, and then adds “not anymore.” He kisses Lore on the nose and sets her down before turning to rummage in the cupboards. She cries at his feet as he deftly avoids stepping on her while he moves around the kitchen. He pauses in what he’s doing, and checks her bowl, clucking at her when he sees it’s still full of food. Then he sets a box of Corn Pops on the counter, along with bowls with spoons. “Back when I first got home from Afghanistan… yeah maybe. But I’m okay now.”

Castiel waits for him to elaborate, but Dean just pours cereal and milk in their bowls and then puts the jug in the fridge. “Are you sure?” Castiel asks quietly when Dean comes back.

Green eyes flash at him in a quick glance, but Dean ducks his head and keeps his attention on his breakfast as he answers. “Time helped. And being home, in a familiar place, with people I know. I’m still…” he trails off with a shrug. “She doesn’t need to worry about me being out all night anymore. Even if I’m alone.”

Castiel resumes eating his own cereal. The sugary bites are no longer crunchy, but it’s still delicious. It has been years since he’d eaten cereal that isn’t for “grown ups”. Hannah would be horrified. 

They eat in silence for a moment. Every once in a while Dean gives into Lore’s whining, dipping his finger in his milk and holding his hand down by his knee. She stands on her hind legs and licks the droplets, and then whines for more when he resumes feeding himself. It makes Castiel smile every time, to see this big, scarred man with trauma weighing him down, spoiling his cat and gently cooing at her while her claws dig into his jeans when she begs for treats. 

It makes him more certain than ever that this might just be where he’s supposed to be.

“Jo’s only grumpy with me because she cares,” Dean says after a while. “And Sam… well I took care of him as a kid, and now he’s determined to return the favor. Jo freaking out probably whipped him up again and he’s gonna be checking in too much for a while.” He’s already finished his cereal and had grabbed the box to refill his bowl. He holds it out to Castiel questioningly.

Accepting the refill, Castiel nods thoughtfully. He wishes that Hannah had shown him even a portion of the concern that Dean’s family and friends give him, even if it was just being annoyed that he did something she didn’t like. Instead she would grow cold and distant, using the silent treatment as punishment when she was upset with him. It hadn’t bothered him before, but as things grew worse between them after the mugging, he’d turned more and more often to a bottle of pills for comfort. To numb the emotional pain along with the physical. 

She hadn’t even told him she was going to leave him. He’d come home from work one day to find a note saying she’d gone to stay with her mother while they work things out with a lawyer. He’d had no idea she was even thinking of divorce until he saw the empty places in their shared home, and realized she had been slowly moving things out for a while. 

“What are you thinking about so hard?” Dean lifts his bowl and watches Castiel over the edge as he drinks his milk.

“I’m sorry?” Castiel asks, as he blinks away the unpleasant memories. 

Dean wipes his mouth with the back of his wrist, and sets his bowl on the floor at his feet. There’s a thin film of sugary milk at the bottom that Lore immediately begins to lap up.

“That can’t be good for her,” Castiel says. “All that sugar.”

“All that sugar’s bad for me too, but you don’t hear me complaining,” Dean retorts with a grin as he strokes her fur. “And it’s just a little bit. She likes it.”

Adorable. “Cats can’t even taste sugar,” Castiel points out.

“That ain’t stoppin’ her.” Dean straightens and leans a hip against the counter. He pins Castiel with a Look. “C’mon, Cas. You were looking pretty fierce there for a minute. What was going on in that head of yours?”

He doesn’t want to complain about his ex wife while eating cereal in his new boyfriend’s kitchen. “It wasn’t important,” he dismisses as he picks up his bowl to finish off his own milk. “Just remembering something.”

For a moment he’s not sure Dean will let him brush it off, if the searching look he gets is any indication. But after a moment, Dean nods and lets it go. He picks up his now-empty bowl from the floor, and takes Castiel’s as well. “So what are your plans for the day?” he asks as he turns on the water and starts to wash the dishes. 

Castiel has no idea. Spending all day with Dean has its appeal, but since their relationship is new he doesn’t want to invade Dean’s space too much. But even if Dean does want to hang out all weekend, he still needs to think about his future in Purgatory and what exactly he’s going to do during the week when they aren’t together.

He will need to find a job. The money is less important than having something to fill his time. And he realizes he’s going to need to find a place to stay, since the motel isn’t exactly set up for long term living. Once he has a place of his own, he’ll probably need to get some clothes, and maybe a phone that isn’t prepaid.

Doing any of those things right now doesn’t sound particularly appealing, although he knows he shouldn’t procrastinate too long. It’s the weekend, and Dean is giving him a hopeful look. Like he wants to spend more time together too, but he’s not going to be pushy about it. 

Castiel is definitely up for spending more time with him today. He can start the process of settling into Purgatory on Monday. 

“I don’t know,” he says slowly. “What do you do with your free time?”

Dean blinks as if he didn’t expect that question. “I binge a lot of Netflix, or hang out with friends. Or I work.” He shrugs, and rubs the back of his neck. “Fixing cars relaxes me.”

Having helped Dean with his work a few times during the week, mostly just holding lights and handing him tools while they talked, Castiel knows that’s true. Even when his muscles are straining and flexing under his shirts, Dean’s whole body seems looser and his movements calm while he works. And Castiel enjoyed himself as well, even if the myriad of tools in Dean’s collection often leave him boggling. 

But Castiel is in the mood for more alone time with Dean, and if they go out in the garage, Jo will be there as well. Tilting his head, he taps his chin with a finger. “Well, we finished our Star Wars marathon. I guess it’s a toss-up now between Indiana Jones and binging Doctor Sexy. I’m not sure which one I’d rather drool over though.”

Tossing his head back, Dean laughs from deep in his belly. It wasn’t even that funny of a joke, but tears of mirth sparkle at the corners of his eyes when he sways forward and grabs Castiel around the waist. “I like the way you think,” he says through his chuckles. His head dips and his lips are warm and firm against Castiel’s for a brief moment, making his heart lose its rhythm. When Dean lifts his head, his smile is soft and affectionate.

“I’m glad you’re here, man,” Dean murmurs.

The feeling is mutual. In all the months he’s been riding away from his problems he’d never expected to find a place like Purgatory. A place full of new friends. And Dean. A giddy laugh bubbles up, and he squeezes Dean back. “Me too.” He likes it here, especially standing in the hazy puddle of morning sunlight shining through the windows, wrapped in Dean’s arms. “I like it here. With you.”

The admission earns him a soft smile, and Dean leans in. Instead of a kiss, like Castiel expected, he nuzzles against Castiel’s cheek. Their beard stubble catches as their jaws slide together, and it’s a little bit itchy, but worth enduring for Dean’s cat-like affection

* * *

Dean can’t remember the last time he felt this content just existing. Castiel is broad and strong in his arms, his breath warm against Dean’s neck. The kitchen is quiet except for the low buzz of the fridge’s motor and the quiet crunching as Lore eats in the corner. 

He could stand here forever if Castiel will let him. 

Aaaand that’s enough of that. Jesus, at this rate he could play the leading lady in Hollywood’s next summer chick flick. Pulling back, he can’t resist one more touch, brushing his knuckle over Castiel’s stubbled cheek. “C’mon, sweetheart, the couch is waiting.”

A beautiful flush spreads across Castiel’s cheeks as he smiles shyly, and Dean wonders if he’ll be able to pay any attention at all to the tv when he’s got someone so gorgeous to stare at instead. 

_Sorry, Doctor Sexy,_ he thinks. Without feeling sorry at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still NaNo-ing! I hate myself for it! xD


	20. Chapter 20

The room is almost exactly like the one Castiel has been staying in since he arrived in Purgatory. The layout is the same, with a closet and bathroom just inside the room’s entrance, with the main living space beyond that. But it’s larger, with the extra space taken up by a desk against one wall and a kitchenette against another wall. There’s a little two-seat dining table tucked in the corner near the windows.

“It ain’t no fancy condo in Boston,” Bobby says as Castiel surveys the room. “Lot cheaper though, I imagine.”

Castiel thinks of the monthly payment on the less than fancy condo he’d shared with Hannah and shudders. Just because he can afford the expensive living space, doesn’t mean he likes seeing how large a chunk it takes out of his accounts. “You’re right about that.” He turns to Bobby with a grateful smile. “This is perfect for my needs though, thank you.”

Grunting an acknowledgement, Bobby reaches up and straightens his hat. “Well we’re real glad you’re sticking around for a while. Gotta roll out the red carpet for the important guests.”

Castiel chuckles at the idea that a bigger motel room counts as royal treatment. When he’d asked Bobby if he knew of any places for rent, he had not been surprised to learn that a small town like Purgatory isn’t exactly bursting with available real estate. He’d been dismayed to learn that he might have to look for lodgings in the “nearby” town of Crossroads, especially when he learned that it’s about half an hour away. 

Thankfully the motel has some bigger lodgings available, and Bobby had offered one of their two “suites” for Castiel at a decent monthly price. It’s not much more than a small studio apartment, but it’s a place to stay and has all the basic amenities. 

As they return to the office to fill out the paperwork, Bobby asks, “any idea what you’re going to do for the job situation?”

“I suppose if it’s necessary, I can commute to Crossroads,” Castiel says. It’s not ideal, but it’s probably better than dealing with public transit in Boston anyway. “I’ll figure something out.”

Filling out the rental agreement doesn’t take long, since it’s really just a reduced daily rate that Castiel can pay once a month, and there’s no lease to worry about. He waves to Rufus in the back office, smiling when he gets a grumble and halfhearted handwave that’s more of a shooing motion. With that done, he’s at loose ends. He should make some calls back to Boston, but it’s too nice of a day to ruin it with that kind of business. So he moves his things into his new home, grimacing when he barely fills a single drawer with his clothes.

He knows that he can call his mother to pack up some things for him and ship them out, but that’s a temporary solution. Eventually he’s going to have to go back and go through the condo to pack it up. Hannah still has stuff there that neither of them have been in a hurry to take care of, and he would rather not ask her to take care of everything for him. 

Besides, at some point he’ll need to stop being a coward and take his life in Boston out of its current holding pattern. That means taking the trip, whether his condo is waiting for him or not. He’s not quite ready, but he thinks he’s close. He has enough clothing to survive another week or two, and then he’ll man up and go to Boston.

Responsibilities successfully dodged for now, Castiel decides that he’s hungry. He picks up some sandwiches at the deli in the grocery store, and walks to Dean’s garage. 

The bay doors are open wide, but only two of the three stalls are filled. The Impala sits in the stall closest to the house, the back doors open, and Dean’s legs hanging out. 

“Hello!” he calls over the music blaring from the radio on the tool bench on the back.

Dean’s legs jerk, and he sits up to poke his head out of the Impala’s door. His eyes are bright and his smile welcoming. “Heya, Cas.” He stands up and hollers over his shoulder “Jo, turn that down, wouldja?”

A head of bandana-bound blond hair pops up from behind one of the cars in the other stalls, and she waves when her eyes land on Cas. “Hi, Castiel!”

Castiel leans into Dean’s greeting kiss, and holds up the plastic bag of food. “I brought lunch.”

“Aw man, I want a boyfriend who’ll bring me lunch,” Jo sighs as she approaches from the back of the shop. “Dean, you lucky bastard.”

“I got you a cold cut sub,” Castiel tells her, holding out the bag. “And sour cream and onion chips.”

The pout immediately disappears, and Jo practically bounces over to dig through the bag. “You remembered my favorite!” As soon as she’s retrieved her wrapped sandwich and bag of chips, she scuttles away.

“Roast beef and cheddar for you,” Castiel pulls out Dean’s sandwich. “And salt and vinegar chips to share with me.” 

“Nice.” Dean rubs his hands together eagerly, but doesn’t take the sandwich. “Hang on, lemme wash my hands and grab some drinks.”

He doesn’t have to go far, since there’s a washing station and a mini fridge in the garage. Dean returns with two bottles of Ellen’s rootbeer, and tilts his head in an invitation to follow him. And he crawls back into the Impala’s back seat. 

Mystified, Castiel joins him. “Oh,” he breathes happily, “you finished the upholstery.”

“Hell yeah,” Dean says as he opens one of the rootbeers for Castiel. He drops the cap in the food bag, and opens his own as well. “And I’m that much closer to the finish line.”

“Are you sure you want to eat in here?” Castiel asks cautiously. “I don’t want to mess up the leather.”

“I got a shop vac,” Dean assures him as he rips open the bag of chips. He shoves several into his mouth, and talks around them. “Just don’ spill yer drink.”

He continues talking through most of the meal, explaining everything that still needs to be done. It’s not the first time Castiel has heard this list; the muffler needs to be machined, the cost of axles on ebay still haven’t come down but he’s got his eye on one seller, he’s got a lead on original side mirrors, and he should be able to afford to get the paint job done soon. Replacing the torn leather of the seats is no longer part of his list, because the stuff he’d needed had come in the morning shipment, and luckily Jo wanted to pick up some more hours so Dean has been able to work on his Baby instead of the boring tune-ups of paying customers.

By the time they’re done with their sandwiches, he’s mostly talked himself out. They lounge together in the back seat, sipping their rootbeers while their knees press together. 

“I can’t wait to get her on the road,” Dean says quietly, into the mouth of his rootbeer bottle. He rests his head back on the seat, and stares up at the roof which still needs to be recovered. “Baby’s made for road trips.”

Castiel hides his smile behind the rim of his bottle, and doesn’t comment on the price of gasoline.

“Dad and Mom would pack up the trunk, and Sammy and me’d climb in the back seat, and dad would just pick a direction--” Dean swings out one of his hands, like he’s gesturing at something vast and unknowable, “--and he’d drive. Baby took us to the beach in San Diego, and to the Grand Canyon, and one time we went up and down Route 66 just to see all the little touristy places.”

“Which one was your favorite?” Castiel asks.

Dean’s face scrunches up in thought, and he pulls absently at his bottom lip. “Man there’s a lot of cool places.” He grins. “The Cadillac Ranch is really cool. And there were a couple of those TeePee motels? The really kitschy ones that are stuck in the fifties, you know?” His gaze grows distant, and he rolls his rootbeer bottle between his palms. “It’s probably cliche, but the Grand Canyon is probably my favorite. You stand on the edge, and it’s just… just so big, and y’know... _grand._ And for just a minute, I almost believe in a higher power. 

“But then I think about it longer; and the world? It’s too big for humanity’s idea of God. And it’s just a little speck of blue in a vast, mostly empty universe. _That God does not exist, I cannot deny. That my whole being cries out for God, I cannot forget._ ” He chuckles at himself. “Sorry, didn’t mean to get all Sartre on you.”

Castiel turns his head on the backrest and blinks at Dean. “You know Sartre?”

“I read.” A flush spreads over Dean’s cheeks, and one shoulder shifts in a half-shrug. “Gets boring out in the desert on the other side of the world.”

“I imagine it does,” Castiel says, smiling at Dean’s bashfulness. As if reading philosophy is something to be embarrassed by. He’s not surprised that Dean is drawn to the atheist philosopher, especially as a soldier in a war that only the politicians seem to know the purpose of.

Dean coughs lightly, and shoots a quick glance in Castiel’s direction. He pouts a little, and turns his eyes back to the car’s roof. “Anyway… when Baby’s done, I want to take her on the road, but…”

Something shifts. Dean is no longer loose and happy, and he begins to chew at his bottom lip. Which Castiel has noticed that he does when he’s nervous. Castiel lifts his head from the seat back. “Dean?”

Instead of answering, Dean sits up and gathers up the trash from their lunch. He examines the seats, and seems pleased. “Good job on not getting crumbs all over my girl,” he says with false cheerfulness. With a grunt, he swings his legs out of the open door and hurries toward the trashcan under the workbench.

Following more slowly, Castiel watches Dean move around as he drains the last of his rootbeer and puts the bottle in a milk crate half full of other empty bottles. He doesn’t look up as Castiel approaches, and his shoulders grow tighter.

Stopping close enough to touch, but far enough away that hopefully Dean won’t feel crowded, Castiel tilts his head and tries to catch Dean’s darting gaze with his own. “Hey,” he says softly. “If you don’t want to tell me what’s going on in your head, you don’t have to.”

Dean goes still, and then straightens slowly. He gives Castiel a deer in the headlights look, but also takes a shuddering breath and nods jerkily. “I… yeah. Yeah, thanks.”

Castiel reaches out but stops just short of contact. “Is this okay?”

Instead of answering out loud, Dean shifts his weight from left to right, nudging his shoulder up against Castiel’s palm. With a gentle squeeze, Castiel reels Dean in slowly, until his arms encircle Dean’s broad shoulders, forcing him to lift his weight out of his heels to compensate for the small difference in their heights. Dean returns the hug with his whole body, burying his face against Castiel’s shoulder and looping tight around Castiel’s waist. 

A shudder goes through Dean’s body from head to toe, and he starts breathing slowly and deliberately. In his head, Castiel counts the seconds between inhales and exhales, and recognizes the breathing exercise that he learned in his therapy sessions with Rowena. 

He firms his grip around Dean’s shoulders, silently giving him support and comfort and affection. All the things he wishes he could have received during his own recovery. Tears prick at the corner of his eyes, and he turns his face into Dean’s neck.

Dean’s fingers spread wide, pressing firmly against Castiel’s ribs, a small caress of comfort. Castiel's heart soaks it up like a dry sponge, parched and shriveled with drought. 

“Couple of dumbasses,” Dean murmurs into Castiel’s t-shirt. There’s a smile in his voice.

“You keep using that word,” Castiel whispers against Dean’s neck. “I don’t think it means what you think it means.”

Dean’s shoulders begin to shake, followed by the rumble of his laughter as he finally straightens. His eyes are a little red rimmed, but there are no other signs of distress as he grins down at Castiel. “You did not just quote Inigo Montoya to me.”

“Princess Bride is a _classic,_ Dean.”

The words are barely out of his mouth before Dean is kissing him. Castiel’s mouth drops open on a gasp, and Dean takes advantage, licking at his lips before delving deeper. He still tastes like rootbeer, and Castiel moans at the flavor as he kisses back. His hands delve into the short hair at the back of Dean’s head, pulling him in closer, even as he presses into Dean’s chest, unbalancing him enough to take a step back until he hits the barrier of the workbench. Castiel follows, grinding his hips against Dean’s, and smiling into the kiss when Dean makes a soft, high pitched noise, and pushes into the friction.

“Oh god, let me at least get out of here first,” Jo says from nearby. Tools clatter loudly, punctuating her protest.

Castiel tries to pull out of the kiss, but Dean loops a hand around the back of his neck, holding him in place. From the corner of his eye, Castiel sees Dean lift his free hand, middle finger held high.”

“Fuck you,” Jo snaps, although the edges of the curse are softened with amusement. Then she snorts. “What am I saying? You’ve got that covered. I’m going to the Roadhouse for a break. Try to get it out of your systems before I get back.” She sweeps past them, boots clomping loudly on the concrete floor as she walks out of the open bay doors.

Castiel bites down on Dean’s bottom lip, a small punishment for making a scene.

Dean finally releases him, mirth sparkling in the verdant depths of his eyes. “She’s going to make me suffer for that,” he says, voice rough with desire. He grinds his hips, and the growing bulge in his jeans, against Castiel again. “Worth it.”

Body thrumming with need, and all thoughts of anything besides getting Dean naked completely obliterated, Castiel asks “how long do you think Jo is going to be gone?”

“All damn day, if she’s smart,” Dean growls. He leans in and captures Castiel’s mouth again.

The kiss is hard, rough, with teeth and beard stubble, and Castiel gives back as good as he gets. He chases the lingering flavor of rootbeer on Dean’s lips, nipping back when he feels the edge of Dean’s teeth. His hands wander over Dean’s shoulders, tugging at the collar of his shirt and tucking his fingers inside to feel the heat of bare skin.

It isn’t enough. Wiggling out of Dean’s grasp enough to reposition, he shoves his fingers under the waistband of Dean’s jeans. They’re soft and loose, but the denim still catches against his wrists, halting his progress. He squeezes the firm flesh under his fingers, accepting Dean’s pleasured noises into himself.

“I want you,” Dean says against his mouth. “Inside me. Please.”

“Yes,” Castiel breathes back.

Dean jerks away almost too fast, leaving Castiel stunned and swaying on his feet until his wrist is encircled by strong fingers and he’s guided toward the garage’s side door. “Bedroom, now,” Dean says as he drags Castiel along in his wake.

“Bedroom,” Castiel agrees breathlessly.

* * *

Heart pounding, and cock hard enough to pound nails straining at his jeans, Dean drags Castiel into the house. Halfway to his room, he has a realization and stops. “Cas, give me ten minutes?” he says breathlessly.

Castiel gives him a searching look, and he’s so goddamn sexy with his lips swollen from Dean’s kisses and his pupils wide with desire that Dean drags him in for another filthy kiss. With a hiss, Dean jerks back but keeps his forehead pressed against Castiel’s. “I just uh… I’ve been working in the garage all day?”

A pained noise rises from Castiel’s throat, and he closes his eyes as if to gather his strength. His forehead bumps against Dean’s as he nods. “Hurry,” is all he says.

“You can wait in my room,” Dean says, and then gives Castiel one more quick kiss before he tears himself away and hurries into the bathroom. He smiles when he hears Castiel huff out a curse behind him.

Ideally he’d like to jump in the shower and do some proper grooming, but there’s no way he’s going to wait for that. But a hot washcloth does the trick, and he doesn’t rush _too_ quickly. He doesn’t want anything ruining his first experience of having Castiel inside him.

He finds Castiel perched on the edge of his bed, elbows braced on his knees and head resting in his hands. He almost looks like he’s praying. But as soon as he hears Dean’s footsteps, his head jerks up and his body follows. He almost slams into Dean, and his hands are fucking _everywhere_ , and _Christ_ , Dean thought he was horny before. 

This wild man in his arms is a goddamn force of nature, and Dean cannot fucking wait to get their goddamn clothes off and get down to the goddamn fucking.

Castiel chuckles darkly. “You really want me to fuck you that bad, huh?”

Shit, did he say those things out loud? Good. Because he goddamn means it. “Fuck yes.”

Castiel grins and suddenly the world is spinning as he swings Dean around and pushes him down on the bed. Dean laughs out loud as Castiel’s hands go straight to the waistband of his pants, which he hadn’t bothered to fasten on his way out of the bathroom. He wiggles his hips and kicks his legs to help Castiel strip them off, glad that he’d decided to leave his t-shirt discarded on the bathroom floor. Planting his feet wide on the mattress, he spreads his knees in invitation.

A hot palm sweeps from his knee to his groin, Castiel’s fingertips bumping over the numb edges of the burn scars wrapping around Dean’s thigh before threading into his pubic hair without touching his cock. Castiel chuckles when Dean’s hips twitch. His eyes are blue flames of desire as they pass over Dean’s body, and he licks his lips like he’s starving when his gaze stops on Dean’s cock. “Fuck you’re sexy,” he murmurs.

“You ain’t bad yourself,” Dean says. A breath shudders out of him as Castiel thumbs at his ballsack, rolling them back and forth on his knuckles. The touch is _almost_ where he wants, but Castiel’s hand moves with his body, and he’s left needy and wanting.

“How long has it been for you?” Castiel’s thumb rubs in too gentle circles, driving Dean almost too crazy to pay attention to what he’s asking.

“A few years.” His voice is weak with want and need, but he’s way past caring.

“Do you use toys or anything?” Castiel asks. His hands disappear from Dean’s skin, but Dean’s dismay over that turns to eagerness when Castiel starts removing the last of his clothes.

Unable to deny himself, Dean props himself up on his elbows and watches Castiel strip down. Even though he’s seen Cas naked a few times now, it still feels like a punch to the gut when he sees the long pink scar on his abdomen. He’ll never speak it aloud, because he knows Castiel is devastated by what happened, but there’s a deep dark corner of him that’s glad the mugger is dead.

Instead of letting himself linger on the scar, he admires the broad muscled expanse of his chest and shoulders. “Sometimes,” he answers around a tongue gone dry as he watches Castiel’s thick thighs flex as he kneels on the mattress between Dean’s legs. “Why do you ask?”

Castiel cups his own cock, and his lips curve into a wicked smirk. “Look at me,” he orders. “You’re going to need some prep first.”

Dean’s already looking, and he swallows convulsively. Castiel’s cock stands out from a nest of neatly trimmed black hair, and Dean knows exactly what he’s asking. Castiel isn’t as long as Dean, but he’s still big. Thick in a way that has made Dean’s jaw ache when it’s been in his mouth.

His mouth waters at the memory of the last time, Castiel spread out on his couch and Dean on his knees in front of him. Sucking him off during one of the hotter softcore scenes on Doctor Sexy. Hearing Castiel moan his name, while Doctor Piccolo’s gasps and the slap of skin had poured from Dean’s shitty tv speakers behind him.

Sitting up, he scoops a hand around the back of Castiel’s neck and reels him in for a kiss. He invades Castiel’s mouth, showing him just how eager he is for what’s about to happen. When he pulls back, Castiel follows, trying to recapture his mouth in another kiss. Dean chuckles darkly, but avoids him so he can answer Castiel’s question. “I can take it,” he assures.

That earns him a slow smile that makes Dean’s heartbeat shift into a higher gear. Castiel leans forward, crawling over Dean and forcing him to fall back on the bed. He reaches between them and cups his own cock, stroking, and letting the tip drag against Dean’s skin. Dean cock fucking _aches_ to be touched, but he spreads his legs even wider in invitation, lifting his feet off the bed and hooking them behind Castiel’s thighs. He’s dying to feel that thick cock stretching him open, moving inside of him. He’s dreamed of it for days now, especially since they’ve started having sex. They haven’t really had the time before now, and he refuses to wait any longer.

He tilts his head toward the bedside table. “Lube’s in the top drawer.”

Castiel smirks at him, dips his head for a filthy wet kiss, and then stretches across Dean to reach for the drawer. Something inside thuds dully as it shifts, and Dean remembers what else is in there just as Castiel’s face lights up. He dips his hand inside and comes back with the thick blue, purple, and pink silicone dildo Dean keeps in there. 

“Oh, we are going to play with this first,” Castiel says, smug as a well fed cat. 

Dean wants to growl in frustration. He wants Castiel’s cock _now._ But the hot look of anticipation Castiel is giving him is too sexy to resist, so he just settles back and hooks his hands behind his knees, pulling them up to his chest.

“Fuck, you’re perfect.” Castiel kisses the arch of Dean’s foot, chuckling darkly when his toes jerk.

He sets the toy down long enough to open the bottle of lube, which he pours over his fingers, rubbing them together for a moment before reaching between Dean’s legs. Even though he paused to make sure it wouldn’t be cold, Dean still hisses at the slick touch. Castiel’s eyes flick up to his, watching for his reaction as he circles Dean’s hole with two fingers. 

Way beyond ready, Dean relaxes with an exhale, and Castiel slips two fingers inside him with ease.

“Perfect,” Castiel murmurs again. He pours more lube onto his fingers as he slowly fucks them in and out, pushing it inside and getting Dean more than wet enough for the toy.

“C’mon, Cas,” Dean says, and it’s not a whine thank you very much, “I’m ready.”

Castiel’s attention is fully on what he’s doing, a crinkle of concentration between his brows. He hums thoughtfully, and then gives a short nod. 

The noise Dean makes when Castiel pulls his fingers free is definitely a whine this time. But the empty feeling doesn’t last long. The cool touch of slippery silicone replaces Castiel’s fingers quickly and the whine turns into a deep groan as he’s filled. The toy isn’t his biggest, just his favorite because the colors make him smile, and the texture is nice. Firm, with some give so that it’s flexible.

A fact that Castiel takes advantage of, angling it experimentally. A grin breaks across his face when Dean bucks against the toy and lets out another noise he’s too turned on to be embarrassed by. “Oh hello,” he says.

Despite the lust fogging his brain, Dean laughs. “Yeah, you got me.”

Castiel chuckles, and deliberately fucks the toy against Dean’s prostate, firm but gently. “How is this?”

“Good,” Dean huffs. _So_ good. 

“Will you touch yourself for me?” Castiel asks. “I like to watch.”

Dean reaches for his cock, squeezing under the head for a moment before stroking himself loosely. “Kinky.”

Dark eyes sweep over him, making his blood simmer under his skin. Dean rolls his hips, and jacks off, watching Castiel watch him, and he wants this to go on forever, but he also wants _Castiel_ inside him, over him, moving against him, _in him._ “Cas please... I need you.”

Castiel bites at his own lips, and finally nods. “Don’t stop touching yourself,” he commands as he reaches across Dean again to fish around in the drawer for a condom. He rips it open with his teeth and rolls it on, and Dean notices there’s a slight tremble in his fingers. Once he’s gloved up, he very slowly tugs at the toy, giving one last teasing thrust before pulling it out completely and dropping it over the side of the bed.

“You stopped touching yourself,” Castiel observes as he lubes himself up, and rises up on his knees to settle more comfortably between Dean’s thighs. 

“Don’t wanna get too worked up before you get inside me.” Dean cranes his neck, wanting to watch everything Castiel does.

Which is to hook his arms under Dean’s knees and pull him roughly until his hips are resting on Castiel’s thighs. The manhandling is surprising and exciting as fuck. Dean knows Castiel is strong, but he really fuckin’ appreciates the demonstration. Castiel’s fingers bite deeply into his thighs, probably leaving marks, and Dean can’t wait to see them. Can’t wait to run his own fingers over the bruises and feel the rush of pleasure when he remembers where they came from.

Those thoughts are interrupted when Castiel guides his cock to Dean’s hole. 

Dean’s eyes roll back in his head at the delicious stretch. A low keening sound leaks from his throat.

Castiel thrusts shallowly, working himself deeper with each stroke. Now that he doesn’t need to guide himself, he wraps his fingers back around Dean’s thighs holding them high and wide. 

When he feels like he’s not going to come apart at the seams if he moves, Dean lifts his head off the pillow and opens his eyes, he finds Castiel staring down with intense concentration at where their bodies are connected. His lips are parted around gasping breathes, and he looks as wrecked as Dean feels. 

“Cas…”

“Shhhh…” His eyes, nearly black with lust flick up to Dean, and he smiles. His voice drops to an even deeper rumble. “We’ll get there.”

Dean’s teeth clamp down over his bottom lip, and he nods. He holds Castiel’s gaze with his own, silently begging for more.

When he’s finally buried inside Dean to the root, Castiel goes still. His muscles twitch like he’s trying to control himself, like he wants to give Dean time to adjust. Which Dean definitely needs. He marvels at the fullness inside him. Castiel is bigger than he’d expected. 

It’s exactly what he needs.

Almost. Castiel still isn’t moving. Impatient, Dean rolls his hips, moaning when the pressure inside him changes.

Castiel makes a small, pleased noise too. “Goddamn, you feel good,” he rasps.

Huge understatement as far as Dean is concerned. He clenches his muscles, and smirks when Castiel gasps. “What are you waiting for? Fuck me, Cas.”

Castiel narrows his eyes dangerously. And he doesn’t move.

Accepting the challenge in that dark stare, Dean flexes again, and this time Castiel groans. He falls forward, bracing his hands on either side of Dean’s head. The motion and the new angle pushes him deeper, and they both make pleased noises. “Tease me like that…” Castiel grinds his hips, “... and I’ll give you a taste of your own medicine.”

“Fuck, Cas, _please._ ” 

Castiel finally begins to move.

It’s better than every dirty fantasy Dean has had. The stretch and burn, the flex of Castiel’s thighs between his own, the way it feels to be caged by Castiel’s arms. Sometimes he goes hard and rough, other times he moves slow and shallow, not giving Dean more than just the head no matter how much he squirms and begs for more. He reaches between them, teasing Dean’s rim with his fingers as if wondering if he could slip one in alongside his cock. 

“Cas…” Dean gasps as his prostate is nailed _just fucking perfeclty_ , “Cas… k-kiss me.”

He can barely kiss back, but the feel of Castiel’s lips against his, the heat of his breath, the weight of his chest pressing Dean into the mattress, all if it drives Dean’s pleasure through the fucking stratosphere. His skin feels too tight, and every gasping breath fails to deliver enough oxygen. His world narrows down to the cock driving into his ass, the way Castiel’s belly rubs against his own cock, and the noises Castiel makes as he also loses his damn mind. 

“Dean, I’m going to come,” Castiel gasps against his lips.

“Fuck, me too.” He’s so close. So so close.

One perfectly aimed thrust hits him just right, and he throws his head back with a wail. His fingers dig into Castiel’s back, trying to drag him closer, deeper. And then he’s coming, his dick throbbing between them.

Castiel buries his face against Dean’s neck with a groan. He hooks his elbow under Dean’s knee, pushing it higher, and his hips drive quick and hard against Dean’s. With a whine that sounds like a mangled version of Dean’s name, his motions stutter. He thrusts deep, once, twice, and then his whole body locks up with his orgasm.

After a few circular grinding motions of his hips, Castiel’s body goes lax, dropping all his weight on Dean’s. His breath saws in and out, cooling the sweat on Dean’s skin.

The weight makes it hard for Dean to catch his own breath, but he wraps his arms around Castiel’s shoulders to encourage him not to move for a while. It’s been so long since he’s had this, and he’s missed it more than he thought he did. Carefully he lowers his feet to the mattress, pouting when Castiel shifts his hips a little and slips free. 

“Am I too heavy?” Castiel asks after a few minutes.

“No.” Dean threads his fingers through Castiel’s hair, scratching lightly at his scalp. 

A deep chuckle rumbles through Castiel, and he lifts his head. His smile is sated and lazy. “I don’t believe you.”

Much to Dean’s displeasure, Castiel rises up onto his hands and knees with a grunt, and then sits back on his heels. Dean sits up, and reaches for the condom, enjoying the way Castiel’s lips part on a soft gasp as he gently removes it for him. He ties it off and tosses it in a wastebasket next to the bed, and then reaches for some tissues to clean them both up a little. Then he settles back on the bed and wiggles his fingers at Castiel in an invitation to rejoin him.

With a smile, Castiel settles down next to him and pulls him close. Dean cuddles into his chest, and tangles their legs together. A sense of profound contentment spreads through him. He can’t remember the last time he’s felt this relaxed. Despite the languid warmth in his limbs, he’s not tired though.

Castiel doesn’t seem tired either, although he’s obviously in the same lazy mood. A half smile hovers on his lips, and his fingers are tracing shapes on Dean’s shoulder again. His other hand pets up and down Dean’s body. Along his arm, over his ribs to his hip. Long fingers meet the waxy, gnarled skin under the tattoos, and instead of shying away, they explore further. 

When he’d begun healing and the numbness had replaced the pain, Dean had been grateful. Now though, he misses the ability to feel Castiel’s touch the same way he could have before. All he senses is a light pressure now.

“Tell me how you got these?” Castiel asks softly.

He’s not talking about the tattoos, but Dean tries anyway. “Tattoo shop. Paid a shitload of money for ‘em.”

“Dean.”

The soft censure in his voice hits him under the sternum, and Dean sighs in surrender. He’s awake, so the memories aren’t as sharp and painful as they are in his dreams. They’re soft and misty, distant, even if they still make him ache in his soul when he looks too closely at them. 

“It was an ambush. Someone had a rocket launcher.” He speaks slowly, forcing each word past the lump growing in his throat. “It hit things just right that the truck I was riding went up in flames.” Talking about the explosion makes him think of the people who hadn’t been able to escape the truck, and his mind skitters away from the memory of their faces. “Not sure what mangled my knee, but I managed to get free and drop and roll, but not before getting crispy.”

“Jesus,” Castiel whispers. “You’re lucky you didn’t lose the limb.”

It had been a near thing. And he’ll be eternally grateful to the doctors that saved his leg. But he can’t appreciate his luck when no one else benefited from it. “Yeah, lucky me,” he says flatly. “Everyone else lost their lives.”

He refuses to meet Castiel’s eyes, but he can feel some kind of emotion radiating off him. Probably disappointment that he hadn’t crawled back into the truck and pulled the others out of the fire.

“Dean? What’s the matter?” Castiel ducks his head a little, and when Dean tries to turn further away he doesn’t back off like he normally does. His hand lifts from the scars and cups Dean’s chin, nudging it upwards until Dean has no choice but to meet his gaze unless he wants to keep his eyes shut.

Castiel is frowning, but it’s confusion, not judgement. After a moment his eyes go wide. “You don’t think you deserved to be saved.”

“I couldn’t save any of them,” Dean whispers. “So why me?”

Dean chokes back a sob. The corners of his eyes sting, and he closes them against the burning intensity of Castiel’s gaze, and the forgiveness he doesn’t deserve. Soft lips press against his forehead and Dean presses into the kiss. And even though he doesn’t think he should have survived, in this moment he’s so fucking glad that he did.

“Good things do happen, Dean,” Castiel says softly.

“Not in my experience.”

“Then let’s change that.”

The lump in his throat is too big to speak around, so Dean responds by wrapping his arm tight around Castiel’s body and pressing as close to him as he can. Despite all his sessions with Pam, he’s not sure he deserves Castiel’s comfort, but he’s weak and he’s going to take it if it’s being offered. And Castiel gives it to him in spades, holding him back just as tight, and it’s everything he needs right now. Better than therapy or meds. Something cracks open inside Dean. It’s almost painful, but it’s overwhelmed with relief as something dark and poisonous leaks out.

When his body finally gives in and relaxes, Castiel’s arms loosen around him. But he keeps his nose buried in Dean’s hair, and his fingers start tracing shapes on his skin again.

Dean grabs his hand and guides it to his hip where the scars begin. He presses Castiel’s hand against the warped skin, and feels Castiel’s gasp of surprise. But Castiel only massages the flesh under his hands gently, undisturbed by the scar tissue itself. 

In some ways, the way Castiel is touching him now is more intimate than sex. And Dean thinks Castiel knows it.

He closes his eyes and concentrates on the pressure he can feel through the scarring as Castiel’s thumb strokes back and forth.

The peaceful moment is shattered by the slamming of a door at the front of the house. Dean’s body goes ramrod stiff, his eyes shooting open and searching for enemies as adrenaline floods into his system.

“Shhh, it’s probably just Jo.” The warmth of Castiel’s hand is still seeping into Dean’s ruined skin, and it gives him something to latch onto to keep himself centered.

Castiel’s guess is confirmed when Jo’s voice reaches them through the thin walls. “You fuckers better be decent! Sam and Eileen are gonna be here soon!”

Dean forces himself to take a deep breath and let it out. He counts out the seconds, one through six, six through one. He lifts his head from under Castiel’s chin and gives him a smile. A genuine one, because Castiel had known exactly what was wrong and had soothed him like a startled cat.

It’s sexy as fuck. Dean’s always wanted to date a Cat Guy.

“I’m alright,” he assures. “Thanks, Cas.”

“Put your dicks away and come out!” Jo calls. “It’s game night!”

He can hear the amusement in her voice. The little shit _knows_ she’s interrupting something, and is thoroughly enjoying it. He glares at the wooden barrier between them and plots his revenge. 

“Game night?” Castiel asks.

“Yeah, and you’re staying,” Dean says. “Eileen’s bringing her special sauce and I’m gonna fire up the barbeque.”

Castiel smiles brightly. “That sounds like fun.”

Dean leans in and kisses him, just because he can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 28910 words on NaNo, and a 17 day writing streak! XD


	21. Chapter 21

With a grunt, Castiel lifts the last box out of the delivery truck. It’s just a short walk into the Roadhouse storage room where he sets his burden down.

Ellen glances up from the clipboard. “Is that it?” she asks as she checks something off on her notepad.

“That’s the last of it.” Castiel lifts his shoulder enough to wipe the moisture trickling from his temple on his t-shirt. The smell of his own sweat assails him, and he wrinkles his nose. Everyone has been telling him the weather should cool off any day now, but he has a hard time believing it at the moment. Almost two months has passed since his arrival in Purgatory, and it’s almost October. It should feel like summer is almost over, not in full swing. “Garth is ready to go once you sign off on it.”

She nods, still making notes. “Let him know I’ll be right out, would you?”

Castiel gives her a lazy salute and goes back outside. Garth is up in the back of his truck, doing his own inventory. “Ellen will be out in a minute,” he says as he approaches.

“Great!” Garth chirps cheerfully as he comes over to the edge of the truck bed and accepts Castiel’s uplifted hand to help him down. 

He barely puts any weight on Castiel, but it’s enough to make Castiel’s shoulder twinge. Grunting, Castiel rubs the ache. He should probably find himself an ice pack before it gets worse.

“You okay there, bud?” Garth asks when he notices Castiel’s discomfort.

Rolling his shoulder, Castiel grunts again. “Old injury is flaring up today. I probably overworked it.”

Garth hums sympathetically. “I’m sure the incoming storm isn’t doing you any favors either.”

His shoulder does sometimes give him hell when a storm comes in, but Castiel glances doubtfully at the cloudless sky. He’s heard plenty about how fast the weather can change in desert areas though, so he’ll take a local’s word for it. “That might be nice if it cools things down,” he says.

The heat doesn’t agree with him if he stays out in it too long. He’s had a few mild migraines recently, and the lingering summer weather seems to exacerbate them. Thankfully they hadn’t been bad enough to incapacitate him like the one he’d had the day he arrived in Purgatory, and he’s been able to function through them, but they hadn’t let up until he’d soaked in a cool bath.

Garth grabs the bill of his hat to pull it off and wipe the sweat off his forehead, but his grin stays firmly in place as he puts it back on. “New Englanders can’t handle the heat, huh?” he teases.

Castiel snorts. “I’d like to see you handle the humidity,” he counters. “Or a Boston winter.”

“Touché,” Garth concedes with a chuckle.

Ellen comes outside, and passes a yellow sheet of paper to Garth. “Thanks, hun. That’s the receipt and next week’s order.”

Garth accepts the paperwork and says his goodbyes, assuring Ellen that he plans to come around Friday night to work the Roadhouse’s karaoke machine. In short order he has the back of the truck securely closed and it’s rumbling away. Castiel watches it go, squinting in the sunlight. When it’s out of sight, he turns to Ellen. “Do you need me for anything else?”

“No thanks, sweetie. I can handle the rest.” She gives him a grateful smile. “And Benny should be here soon, so I’ll have him do the rest of the heavy lifting.”

It’s technically his day off, and working part time for Ellen gives him plenty of free time, but considering the ache in his shoulder, Castiel is grateful for the break. Since Ellen insists she’s fine doing inventory on her own, he waves goodbye before walking across the empty parking lot to where his bike is parked. He rakes his fingers back through his hair before pulling his helmet on, absently wondering where he could go to get it cut when he’s ready.

It’s a short ride to the motel, and he probably could have gotten away with just walking if it weren’t for the heat. Jo has hinted a few times that she thinks he should just ask to move in with Dean, especially since he spends most of his free time, and a lot of his nights at the house with him. But he’s just old fashioned enough that he wants to have his own space for a while. Moving in with each other is a big step. And he thinks Dean is on the same page with him about that because he hasn’t brought up the subject either.

Besides, the motel bed is bigger than Dean’s, and comes with a lot more privacy. Dean has an open door policy at his house that his friends and family all take full advantage of. And instead of asking them to knock it off, Dean has started spending time with Castiel at the motel. 

Once he’s back at the motel, Castiel packs up his clothes, including the things he’s borrowed from Dean, into a canvas bag. He has to do laundry often, because he still hasn’t gone looking for a place to buy more clothes, or contacted someone back in Boston to send him some of his things. Dean has a washer and dryer that he’d probably let Castiel use, but he still likes going to the laundromat. It’s just as much of a social hotspot as the diner or the roadhouse, and every once in a while he runs into Eileen while he’s there, and he enjoys his conversations with her.

To his delight, she’s there today. Of course she’s fixing something again. The place belongs to an elderly married couple who don’t invest a lot of money into the place because they’re saving up to retire in a bigger city, so the place isn't in great condition. Luckily Eileen is friendly with them, and is handy with machines, so they spare enough money to pay her for the repairs.

“Hello,” he signs when she looks up at his approach. “What’s broken this time?”

She’s standing near one of the huge dryers that are big enough to crawl into, glaring down at what looks like a small motor in her hands. “The usual,” she says on a sigh. “Old parts burning out. This thing is scrap.” She tosses it onto a small tarp at her feet, and turns to greet him properly, giving him a quick hug. “I blame it on you, you know?”

Castiel lifts an amused brow. “Me?”

“Yes, you.” She pokes him in the chest with a finger. “You’re in here all the time, wearing out these old machines.”

He laughs at her teasing. “It’s probably time to stop procrastinating and get myself more clothes so I don’t have to wash them as often.” What he should really do is get off his ass and have his belongings shipped here. Every day he spends in Purgatory solidifies his assurance that he’s going to be staying permanently. Between his relationship with Dean, and the new friends he’s making, thoughts of going back to his life in Boston are few and far between.

Eileen plucks at his t-shirt. It’s one of Dean’s and it fits him snugly. The words _Purgatory Auto-Repair_ printed across the chest are slightly stretched. “While I like the skin-tight look on you,” she says brightly, “you could use a little variety. Plus you’ll need something warm for winter.”

Thinking of how hot it still is outside, Castiel chuckles. “If they even have winter here.”

She grins at the joke. Having come from Ireland, she knows exactly how Castiel feels about winter this far south. They both know it can’t hold a candle to what they’ve experienced. “You’ll probably be good with a few good sweaters. Maybe a thick hoodie.”

They chat for a few more minutes, but then she has to get back to work. Castiel settles down in one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs against the front window, and pulls out his Kindle to read while he waits for his laundry. When it’s all done, he heads back to the hotel and shakes his head at himself when he is again reminded of his clothing situation by how little space it takes up in the dresser. He really does need more things to wear.

A glance at the clock is all it takes to put that idea on hold. Dean will be closing up shop soon. He jumps in the shower to wash away the sweat he’d worked up moving inventory for Ellen, then dresses in a newly laundered pair of jeans and one of his own shirts.

Dean is pulling the garage doors down over the bays when Castiel gets there. The sound of his bike’s motor catches Dean’s attention, and he smiles over his shoulder as Castiel pulls into the gravel in front of the shop. He has both doors closed and is walking over just as Castiel turns the engine off. Castiel barely has time to dismount before Dean catches him around the waist and pulls him close for a hello kiss.

Just like most kisses they share when no one is looking, it’s anything but short and friendly. Desire lances through Castiel as he parts his lips for Dean’s tongue. For the space of a minute he forgets anything but the taste and scent of the man holding him close.

“Heya, Cas,” Dean says softly when he finally lifts his head. He bumps their foreheads together gently, and his eyes crinkle with his smile. “Missed you.”

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel murmurs. “It’s only been a few hours.”

“Feels like forever.”

They separate at the sound of boots clomping through the gravel. Jo comes around the side of the garage, and she rolls her eyes at them. “You two can’t keep your hands off each other for even a minute, can you?”

Castiel frowns at the bite in her voice. When he’d first come to Purgatory she’d been gung-ho about getting him in bed with Dean, but as the weeks have passed, she’s started to get short with them. He’s beginning to think she might be a little jealous of Dean’s attention, but he hasn’t brought it up yet because he doesn’t want to rock the boat. And Dean has never indicated that they’re anything more than close friends with a sibling dynamic.

“You guys coming to the roadhouse for karaoke tonight?” she asks.

“That’s the plan,” Dean says. He turns to Castiel to confirm. “Right?”

“That’s the plan,” he echoes.

Jo gives them a wry smile. “Alright, well I’ll catch you lovebirds later.” She waves over her shoulder as she clomps across the street.

Dean gazes after her, confusion written in the lines of his face. “She seem grumpy to you, lately?”

“You know her better than I do,” Castiel points out. He rubs a hand up and down Dean’s side, and says carefully, “but I think she might be… jealous.”

The confused look gets directed at him now. “What? Jo?” Scoffing softly, he glances back the way she went. “She’s like a little sister to me, and she knows it.”

“It might just be how much of your time you’re spending with me,” Castiel points out.

“Yeah, maybe.” Dean sighs and shakes his head a little. “Maybe _she_ needs to find a boyfriend.”

Castiel chuckles. “It would be nice for her, yes.”

Dean hums thoughtfully, but then his expression turns wicked. “Hey. We have time for a quickie,” he purrs.

“Well what are we waiting for?” When Dean snags his wrist and starts dragging him toward the house in long strides, he throws his head back on a laugh.

Dean barely has him inside the door before he’s dragging Castiel into a fierce kiss, deeper and more filthy than the one they’d shared outside. But he pulls back quickly and grimaces as he lifts his hands from where they’d been cupping Castiel’s face. He holds them up, displaying his grease stained fingers. “Shit, I’m sorry.”

Laughing again, Castiel reaches up and feels an oily smudge on his cheek. “I just got out of the shower,” he complains good-naturedly.

Dean grimaces. “I’m sorry,” he says again. His eyes drop to Castiel’s clothes, and he nudges him until he turns around so he can see his back. “Damn, I got it all over you. Lemme wash up, and I’ll get you another shirt.”

Rolling his eyes at Dean’s back as he follows him down the hallway, Castiel stops in the bathroom and looks at the dark smudges on his face. He grabs a washcloth and does his best to clean his skin before he joins Dean in the kitchen where he’s using a brush to try and scrub the oil out from under his nails.

“It’s a good thing I plan on getting more clothes soon,” Castiel says as he leans a hip against the counter.

Dean looks up with a flirty grin. “Tired of wearing my clothes already?”

Castiel plucks at Dean’s t-shirt, which is also slightly tight on him. “Not all of us like to show off our perky nipples with skin tight clothing.”

Hands clean but still dripping, Dean straightens from the sink and wraps his arms around Castiel, tugging him in close until their hips are pressed together. He grins at Castiel’s huffs of annoyance over his wet hands, and bounces his eyebrows. “You like my perky nipples.”

Castiel allows himself to be kissed, but he only answers the assertion with a noncommittal hum. When Dean lifts his head, Castiel points out “I’ve only got enough clothes for five days. And as Eileen pointed out to me earlier today, I’ll need some warmer things to wear soon.”

“That’s a good idea,” Dean says as he lets go of Castiel and grabs a towel to finish drying his hands. “There’s a department store in Crossroads.”

Crossroads is a larger town half an hour north, and it’s where Purgatory’s residents go when they need anything that isn’t carried at the local mercantile. Castiel hasn’t been there yet, but everyone has told him that’s the place to go. “How about we go tomorrow?” he suggests. “I don’t have work, and--Dean? What’s wrong?”

Dean had gone unnaturally still, his eyes glazed. Castiel watches his pupils contract and recognizes it as a bad sign.

“I...I’d rather not.” Dean’s words are slightly slurred, as if he had something in his mouth blocking his tongue.

Castiel has seen this before. It’s a mild panic attack. He’s seen Dean’s reaction to loud noises enough to recognize it for what it is. He takes one of Dean’s hands and begins massaging his fingers. It’s a trick that Jo had shared with him, and it seems to center Dean, calming him down. Hiding his disappointment, he smiles reassuringly. “You don’t have to go. But can I borrow your truck? Bringing stuff home on my bike would be a challenge.”

His words don’t seem to make Dean feel any better. His expression falls, and he looks away, gazing out the window over the sink. His voice is flat when he speaks. “Yeah, no problem.”

“Hey.” Castiel lifts a hand and cups Dean’s cheek, gently nudging him back to face him. “It’s alright.”

Dean’s face scrunches up with something that looks like despair. “I hate this,” he mutters through gritted teeth.

“Hate what?” Castiel prompts when Dean doesn’t elaborate. He has an idea of what is wrong, but he’s going to be patient until Dean is ready to talk about it.

Dropping his eyes to his hand in Castiel’s, Dean speaks softly. “This fear. I can’t stand it, but I can’t make it stop.”

In a way, Castiel understands. Every time he’d popped a pill, he hated himself, but he couldn’t make himself stop.

_The pile of little white tablets feel weightless in his palm. He rolls them around a little, uncaring about the ones that drop off the edges to clatter on the bathroom tiles. Just throw them away. Into the toilet. Flush them. So easy to do. Just stop--WHY can’t he just_ stop?

He doesn’t want to think about that night, so he focuses all his attention on Dean. “It’s not unusual for people to come home from war with--”

Dean cuts him off with a firm shake of his head. “You didn’t know me before.” He sounds angry now. “I wasn’t scared of shit. Hell I was a stupid kid who was always getting into trouble because consequences were my bitch, and I could take anything the world threw at me. But now?” He laughs bitterly and flings a hand in the direction of the Impala. “I can’t even walk down an unfamiliar street without having a panic attack, so I don’t know why I’m even bothering to rebuild a car that’s going to sit in the garage forever because I’m too chickenshit to drive _to the next town over._ ” 

Castiel blinks at the sudden tirade. He’s not surprised at the flash of anger so much as he is at the content. This is the first he’s learning that Dean has difficulty coping with unfamiliar spaces, and he wonders if Dean’s therapist has noticed his agoraphobic tendencies. He knows Dean still talks to her now and then, when he feels like he needs to. 

It doesn’t feel right to poke him about it right now though. Not when he’s wide-eyed with anxiety that could so easily be pushed into a full blown panic attack if Castiel doesn’t tread carefully. 

“You know, I was a cop for six years before I ever had to use my gun?” he asks. He waits for Dean to acknowledge him with a confused nod. “I only shot the guy in the leg, but after we had him cuffed in the ambulance, I lost it. Puked all over my shoes.”

Dean’s shoulders relax and he chuckles. It’s strained, but it’s an improvement, and Castiel will take it.

“That’s sexy,” Dean says with a crooked grin.

“Oh yes, very,” Castiel agrees with a roll of his eyes. More light comes back to Dean’s eyes, which lifts his own spirits. But his smile fades a little when he continues. “And when I killed that mugger… I didn’t handle that very well either.”

Dean studies him for a long moment before twisting his hands out of Castiel’s grip, so that he’s holding Castiel’s instead. He returns the massage, which does less to calm him than the fact that Dean is giving him a taste of his own medicine. 

“My point is,” Castiel continues, “that war is hard. You went through something I can’t even imagine. But you’re dealing with it far better than I dealt with my own problems.”

“Cas--” Dean stops when Castiel shakes his head.

“Don’t worry about it, alright?” He doesn’t want to talk about the things he’s gone through, the mistakes he’s made. He cups Dean’s cheek, brushing his thumb through ginger stubble. “You’ll get there, Dean. And in the meantime, I’m a big boy and I can take a shopping trip on my own.”

Dean’s verdant green eyes are hooded as he considers what Castiel said. Finally he smiles slightly and turns to nuzzle Castiel’s palm. “You can borrow my truck,” he murmurs. He starts nibbling the skin under his lips.

Castiel inhales sharply, and quickly forgets the whole conversation when Dean takes his thumb in his mouth and suckles softly. He must make some kind of noise, because Dean smirks around his thumb. There is a very clear invitation in his eyes. “We still have time for that quickie, right?” 

“Hell yes,” Dean growls. He uses his grip on Castiel’s hand to drag him to the bedroom.

Lore is in there, sleeping on Dean’s pillow. She blinks up at them as they stumble through the door, and vacates the room quickly, making them both laugh as they fall down together on the mattress.

It turns out they have just enough time. They’re barely catching their breath, limbs still entangled, when they hear the front door open and voices along with it. They didn’t even bother getting fully naked, so all they have to do is straighten their clothes. 

Jo takes one look at them when they exit the bedroom and rolls her eyes with a groan. Sam and Eileen are with her, and Sam wrinkles his nose at their disheveled appearance but his eyes glow with humor, and Eileen doesn’t bother to hide a belly laugh. 

Castiel’s cheeks warm, but Dean only smiles, broad and shameless.

* * *

Dean’s eyes crack open to find just a hint of dim morning light coming in through his window. His dreams had been unnerving enough to wake him, but they’re already fading. The warm body pressing against his back and the strong arm around his waist have a much higher priority for his attention. Turning his head slightly, he squints at the bedside clock. He still has another ten minutes before the alarm he’d set last night is going to go off. Usually he doesn’t need it since he’s a morning person, but after last night’s party at the Roadhouse, he hadn’t wanted to chance sleeping in. 

He reaches out to turn it off, and jostles Castiel just enough to disturb his sleep. His arm tightens around Dean’s waist, and one of his knees nudges between Dean’s thighs, entangling them even further. 

“Morning already?” he grumbles against Dean’s shoulder.

“Close enough,” he answers quietly. He allows Castiel to cuddle him close, enjoying the burn of beard stubble against his skin when Castiel nuzzles him.

Castiel grunts softly, and after a few minutes his breathing evens back out as he falls asleep again. Dean stifles a laugh. Castiel is not a morning person, but Dean thinks his grumpiness is kinda cute. He’d asked once how Castiel managed to get up for work every day when he was a cop, and the answer had been _copious amounts of nagging and coffee._

Very carefully, Dean extracts himself from Castiel’s octopus hug, and gets out of bed. Once he’s upright he stretches his arms high over his head, moaning softly as his muscles warm. When he looks down, he chuckles softly when he sees Lore curled in a ball behind Castiel’s knees. She looks up at him through half-lidded eyes, and her motor rumbles to life when he reaches down to rub the top of her head and stroke her ears. Castiel is once again oblivious to the world, but he grumbles mildly and rolls onto his stomach to bury his face in Dean’s pillow. Lore relocates to the small of his back, curling up into a purring loaf of fur.

After basking in the glow of his affection for the man in his bed, he pulls on a pair of shorts and leaves the room, careful to stay quiet and not disturb his boyfriend any further. Following his normal morning ritual, he starts the coffee maker then heads to the bathroom for a shower. By the time he’s finished, he finds Jo in the kitchen sipping at her first cup.

“You look like hell,” he says, as he flips the end of her ponytail. She’s got deep bags under her eyes, and she didn’t manage to get all her hair tied back. At least she’s dressed properly. They’ve stayed up late and drank too much plenty of times, and he’s witnessed her with backwards shirts, and mismatched shoes.

She lifts a finger to her lips and shushes him.

Refraining from pointing out that it’s going to be loud in the garage, he pulls out a bottle of Tylenol and sits it on the counter in front of her. He manages to keep a straight face while he drinks his own coffee, and she starts in on her second. But after he abandons his empty mug in the sink and turns away, his grin breaks free. 

He manages to hide it again by the time she joins him in the garage. There’s no need to antagonize her, even if she wouldn’t have any qualms about turning the tables, so the thought of giving her the taste of her own medicine is tempting.

A little over an hour later, he’s under the hood of Sam’s cruiser, which he’d left overnight with plans to pick it up when Dean finished its tune-up. The sound of the garage’s side door makes him lift his head, and he smiles when he sees Castiel come in. His dark hair is damp from a shower, curling a little behind his ears because he hasn’t bothered to get it cut despite saying he needs to all the time. He’s also wearing one of Dean’s shirts again. 

It’s a sight that always makes Dean’s chest feel like it’s going to burst from being overfilled with happiness. 

“Morning, sunshine,” he says as he stands, careful not to knock his head on the car’s hood.

“Good morning,” Castiel says as he approaches. “You didn’t have to let me sleep in so late.”

When Castiel is close enough, he tilts his chin up in invitation, and Dean greets him with a peck on the lips. He smells like coffee and the hazelnut creamer that he likes, and Dean now keeps stocked in the fridge for him. “You looked so peaceful. I didn’t have the heart to wake you.”

Castiel hooks a hand over Dean’s hip, his thumb tucked through the belt loop. “Well thanks.” His voice, low and husky, makes Dean wonder briefly if he knows that he sounds like pure sex first thing in the morning. “But next time, wake me.”

That only has a fifty-fifty chance of happening, but Dean smiles and nods anyway. He kisses Castiel one more time, and then slips out of his grip so he can reach under the cruiser’s hood and remove the dipstick to check the oil. “Are you still planning on going to Crossroads?” 

“Yes I am.”

Dean leans further over the engine and pulls the cap off the coolant overflow tank. He casts an inviting glance at Castiel. “Keys are in my pocket,” he says, pretending to be too busy to grab them himself.

A rusty chuckle is his reward. And even better, Castiel steps up behind him, leaning his hips forward until he’s pressed firmly against Dean’s thighs. His hand slips into Dean’s pocket, stroking his hip through the cloth before slowly pulling the keys out.

And he doesn’t move away immediately. Dean stands, and strong arms come around his stomach. Castiel rests his chin on Dean’s shoulder. “I could go later, and you can come with me,” he says softly.

Dean sighs. He wants to go, he really does. And at the moment, the idea doesn’t seem so bad. When Castiel mentioned the trip yesterday his heartbeat had immediately spiked and the edges of his vision blurred as panic tried to sink its claws into him. He has none of the panic symptoms now, but he doesn’t want to risk it. “Maybe next time,” he murmurs.

He means it too. One of the common treatments for his condition is to expose himself to things that would bother him under safe conditions. Pam had suggested taking Sam, or trusted friends with him on small trips, gradually going further and further and expanding his comfort zone. Going to Crossroads with Castiel would probably be good for him. He just needs more time to pep talk himself into it.

The arms around his belly tighten, and warm lips press against the back of his neck. “Alright, I’ll see you when I get back then.”

Dean turns in his arms so they can share a proper kiss. It’s soft and nearly chaste, but it still sends heat flowing through his veins. Not the heat of lust, but a burning around his heart that radiates outward in comforting waves. He watches as Castiel leaves the garage, and waits until he hears the truck’s engine roar to life before he goes back to work on the cruiser.

But now his mind is only half on his work. Would it really have been so bad to go to Crossroads? It isn’t that far away, and it’s a place he’s very familiar with, having gone there for shopping trips during his entire childhood, and bussing there for high school. 

But it isn’t home, and he still doesn’t feel ready to leave his haven.

He’s irritated with himself for being unable to deal with his own illogical responses to things that never bothered him before that nightmarish day in Afghanistan. He _knows_ there is nothing to be afraid of in podunk nowhere USA. He _knows_ he’s half a planet away from gun battles and roadside bombs. But he also knows that agoraphobia is a mental illness, and therefore not easily defeated by logic.

One of the spark plugs falls off the ratchet when he tries to pull it free, and clangs its way down into the depths of the engine. By the sound, he knows it didn’t find its way through to the floor. Cursing, he leans down to see if fell somewhere he can reach it easily.

“You look like your posing for a Hot Mechanics calendar.”

Dean rolls his eyes, but doesn’t stop searching for the spark plug. “One, you’re my brother so that’s gross.” He grunts as he leans down further. “And B, maybe you should take a picture for your wife. Give me a real shot at stealing her.”

Sam chuckles as he steps up beside the car and ducks his head a little so he can see under the hood. “Eileen’s more likely to run off with Cas than with you,” he teases. “Lose something in there?”

Reaching a hand into the crevices, Dean turns to look up at Sam while he hunts around for the lost part. “Why are you here so soon? I told you this would be done in the afternoon.”

“Slow day. Thought I’d come irritate you.” 

“Mature,” Dean grunts as he wiggles his wrist deeper into the engine. “Good to know I raised you right.”

Sam’s shameless grin is 100% Campbell-Winchester, the same one Dean inherited. “Sure ya did. Anyway, I was also hoping to see Cas is awake yet.”

Giving up before he gets stuck with his arm in the engine, Dean straightens and gives his brother a curious look. “Okay?”

Instead of explaining, Sam frowns down at the engine. “Seriously, though. Did you lose something in there?”

Dean snorts and rolls his eyes as he heads to his tool bench and grabs a telescoping magnet. Whatever Sam wants must not be serious, or he would have gotten to his point already. “Yeah, but nothing important,” Dean says as he comes back to the cruiser and bends over the engine again to fish out the spark plug. “So… Cas?”

“Is he around?”

“He went to Crossroads.” Dean lets out a triumphant huff as he pulls the spark plug free. He drops the piece in his palm and shows it to Sam. “See? No big deal.”

Sam eyes it suspiciously, because he always paid more attention to his textbooks than dad’s lessons about cars. “That’s not an important piece?”

“Naw.” Dean grins and bounces the spark plug on his palm a couple times before pocketing it. Grabbing his ratchet, he goes back to work pulling the rest of them out.

“Uh huh.” Sam’s tone is skeptical, but he lets it go. “So do you know when Cas is going to be back?”

Dean opens his mouth to answer, but it occurs to him that he doesn’t know. His stomach twists, and it takes him several heartbeats to remember to breathe. He should have asked. Why hadn’t he asked? It takes a moment for Sam’s voice to break through the rising buzz in his brain.

“...seems like he’s going to be around for a while, and Jody’s thinking about asking him if he wants a job at the station. With his experience, he’ll be an asset.”

Dean forces himself to inhale and exhale twice, slow and steady, before he stands up. It takes an effort, but he ignores his rising anxiety so he can pay attention to Sam. “Really? But you said it’s a slow day. Why are you looking to hire?”

“Jody’s been thinking of hiring for a while. To give us all a little breathing room for vacation time, and she’s had the budget approval for--” He cuts off when he notices something is wrong. “Dean, are you okay? You’re really pale.”

“I’m fine.” Dean digs up a smile, although he doubts it’s completely successful given the way Sam’s eyes narrow with worry. He’s been worse, and a few breathing exercises will probably level him back out. He gestures at the cruiser. “I’ll be done with this in a few hours. I’m sure Cas’ll be back by then. He’s just picking up some new clothes.”

The little worried wrinkle between Sam’s brows doesn’t disappear, but he’s been dealing with Dean’s bullshit long enough to know when to trust Dean’s instincts and let him be. He grunts softly in acknowledgement. “Alright, I guess I’ll let you get back to work.” 

Dean nods and lifts a hand in a half-hearted wave. But he’s barely turned his attention back to the cruiser when Sam pauses at the door and turns back. “I can see how good he is for you, you know,” he says. “And I really like him. I’m glad you guys found each other.”

The anxiety crawling under Dean’s skin is replaced with a pleased buzz, and he ducks his head to hide the heat in his cheeks. “Yeah, uh,” he clears his throat. “Me too. Thanks, Sammy.”

Sam gives him a soft smile, and then leaves, heading for the diner for his umpteenth coffee of the day. 

Once he’s alone again, Dean gets back to work, but it’s difficult to concentrate. He can’t stop thinking about Castiel. He has no idea why it’s bothering him so badly that he doesn’t know how long he’ll be gone for.

He really should have asked.

He concentrates on his breathing. _In through the mouth, out through the nose. In through the nose, out through the mouth._ Counting off the seconds during and in between. It helps a little, but he still feels out of focus, blurred around the edges.

It’s enough to let him finish working on the cruiser, but by the time Sam comes to pick it up, Castiel still hasn't returned. He’d left around nine in the morning and it’s just after lunch now. How long does it take him to buy a few clothes, anyway?

The anxiety swoops in on him again, despite the calming exercises and his hands begin to shake. When he fumbles and drops a tool, he begins cursing. Jo gives him a curious look, but apparently realizes he’s not in the mood to be social, so she wisely keeps quiet. She usually doesn’t tip toe around him, because he’s asked her not to treat him with kid gloves, but whatever is happening on his face has convinced her that today isn’t the day to follow that specific request.

Frustrated at nothing and everything, he stalks out of the garage and into the house. Sensing something wrong, Lore follows him into his bedroom and hops up next to him on the mattress when he sits down. He pets her absently when she butts her head against his shoulder, and the softness of her fur under his fingers does calm him down a little. Enough to think more clearly.

And realize he’s an idiot. He can _call_ Castiel, due to the magic of modern technology. He could have saved himself the last few hours of listening to his own heart pounding in his ears if he’d pulled his head out of his ass earlier. Nudging Lore out of his face, because she’s decided that grooming him is a cure to whatever is ailing him, he pulls his phone from his pocket and dials Castiel’s cell, waiting impatiently through each ring.

Just before voicemail should pick up, there’s a click on the line, and Castiel’s voice. “Dean?”

His voice is hoarse, just above a whisper. And the anxiety Dean had managed to tamp down roars back to full force. “Cas? What’s wrong?”

“Shhh,” Castiel hisses softly. “Migraine.”

_Oh shit._ Careful to keep his voice low, Dean asks “Where are you?”

“Lying in the back of the truck. Can’t drive.”

Dean has seen Castiel work through a migraine several times in the last few weeks. This one must be really bad if he’s afraid to drive. “I’ll come get you.”

Castiel actually chuckles. “Oh yeah? How?”

“I can take your bike.”

“I’ve got the keys,” Castiel points out.

“I’m a mechanic,” Dean points out, a little indignantly. “And a former delinquent. I know how to borrow a motorcycle without keys.”

Another raspy chuckle. “Well I guess if you break my baby, you can always fix her, right?”

Dean is already on his feet, striding for the door. “I’ll be there soon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey friends... I know a lot of hearts are sore right now. Take care of yourselves. We'll get through this. The story belongs to us now.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning in the end notes.

Starting Castiel’s bike without keys is a simple matter, and Dean is on the road within a matter of minutes. During the ride, there is no anxiety, no fear over leaving his comfort zone, even though he only notices the lack in passing. His thoughts are occupied, planning the best way to get Cas home without making his headache worse. He’d grabbed a bottle of Excedrin before he left, but he already knows the offer will be refused.

He understands Castiel’s fear of backsliding, since he’s seen Sam go through the same struggle. But he thinks Castiel might be taking things a bit too far by refusing over the counter drugs, and it frustrates him. Castiel never pushes him about his own issues though, so Dean’s going to return the favor. He’ll still make the offer, and if it isn’t accepted then Castiel will suffer the consequences.

But Dean really hates to see him suffer.

Once he’s in Crossroads finding his truck is quick and easy, since there’s only a couple department stores on Main Street to search. His truck doesn’t stick out among all the other jacked up rock climbers that everyone and their dog owns out here, but Castiel had parked it out in the emptiest part of the lot. He probably moved it there with the last of his energy, so that he wouldn’t have to deal with the sound of other engines starting up all around him. 

He shuts off the bike’s engine before he gets too close, letting momentum carry him the rest of the way. He’s off the bike almost before it’s come to a full stop, but he’s careful to park it properly, aware that Castiel would be displeased if his girl takes any more dings this soon after his accident. Since Castiel said he was in the back of the truck, he approaches the tailgate, and he finds Castiel curled up with his head hidden under the blanket from the emergency kit. 

“Cas?”

The corner of the blanket lifts, and Castiel squints at him from the shadows underneath. “Hello, Dean,” he says with a pained smile.

Fuck, it’s going to be a problem if Castiel can’t sit up in the front seat, because he’s not going to want to leave his bike behind, and Dean doesn’t want that either. He opens his mouth to say something, although he doesn’t have a plan yet, but Castiel beats him to it.

“I’ll help you load the bike up here,” he groans as he sits up.

“Cas, you don’t have to. I can get it.”

The pained squint Castiel gives him is tempered by an amused uptick of his lips. “You really think you can get it up here by yourself? You’re strong, but not _that_ strong.”

They’ve only known each other for a couple months, but Dean recognizes the stubborn angle of Castiel’s jaw. Arguing will waste time, and probably exacerbate Castiel’s pain right now, so Dean gives in. But it still hurts him to see the pinching around Castiel’s eyes and mouth, unmistakable for anything other than pain, as he climbs out of the back of the truck, and they work together to wrangle the bike up there in his place.

Castiel remains stoic through the whole process, but when the tailgate clangs shut he hisses and grips his forehead with one hand. Dean moves close, reaching up to massage the back of his neck gently. With a low noise, Castiel leans his forehead against Dean’s chest for a few moments while he grapples with the pain.

“Please get me home, Dean.” His voice is barely above a whisper.

Dean helps him into the truck’s passenger seat, and pulls a pair of sunglasses out of the glove box for him. Castiel accepts them with a grateful smile and slips them on, even though the sky has grown gray with the impending rain. 

As he drives them back to Purgatory, it’s almost painful to look at Castiel because it’s so obvious how much he’s hurting. Dean takes his eyes off the road as much as he safely can, constantly checking Castiel’s condition. The helplessness he feels in face of Castiel’s pain makes his anxiety flare. Giving in to the urge, he digs into his pocket and pulls out the bottle of pain medication, holding it across the seat and almost under Castiel’s nose so he’ll see it. “Here, take a couple.”

Even with the sunglasses on, Castiel has a hand over his eyes to block out the light. He peeks under his palm to see what Dean is offering. When he sees the bottle, he covers his eyes again and tilts his head back against the seat. “No, thank you. I’m good.”

“Cas,” Dean sighs, “It’s just Excedrin. Not even maximum strength.”

“No,” Castiel mutters.

“Dammit, Cas!” Wincing in guilty sympathy, he drops his volume. “You’re not going to get hooked on it. It’ll help.”

“It’s not going to help,” Castiel croaks. “It never helps.”

He told himself he wouldn’t argue, but that was before he spent fifteen minutes watching his boyfriend suffer. This seems way more serious than any headache he’s ever experienced, and it scares him a little bit. “It has to be better than nothing.”

Castiel lifts his hand enough to shoot a glare in Dean’s direction. At least Dean assumes it’s a glare, since Castiel’s eyes are still hidden behind the dark lenses. “The only thing that will help when it gets this bad is prescription painkillers. That stuff,” he gestures at the bottle Dean is still half-heartedly holding out to him, “won’t even take the edge off.”

Dean grinds his teeth, and then takes a deep breath to calm his temper. What kind of asshole boyfriend would he be if he keeps snapping at Castiel when he’s hurting like this? But he tries one last time, shooting Castiel a pleading look. “Please just try? You look like you’re dying.” His voice breaks on the last word, but he can’t even feel embarrassment over it.

“You know what?” Castiel snaps, “I actually know what dying feels like. On a stomach full of pills it doesn’t hurt at all. In fact, it felt pretty good.”

His meaning hits Dean like a punch to the gut. He’s never asked Castiel for details about the overdose. It only came up that one night at the hot springs. Castiel had sounded nonchalant about it at the time, like he was reciting a list of events that happened to someone else. This time though, there’s something in his tone that scares the hell out of Dean.

He drops the pill bottle in the cup holder. “You did it on purpose, didn’t you?” he asks softly. A soft rattle fills the cab as rain starts to pelt down on the truck’s roof and windshield, and Dean hates it. Hates that the extra noise is going to make things worse for Castiel in any way.

“Yes.” The admission is tiny, his inflection dull. His hand goes back over his eyes and he leans his head back against the seat again.

“Things were that bad?”

“Yes.”

A lump rises in Dean’s throat, and his eyes sting. If Castiel had succeeded… Dean wouldn’t have known any different, and he hates that. But what’s worse is knowing that Castiel has that in him. What if…? Fuck, he doesn’t even want to finish that thought. He’s attached now, more than he ever thought he could be, and the idea of losing Castiel sends pain lancing through him. 

He glances down at the bottle of Excedrin, then returns his attention to the road as it turns dark with accumulating water. “I’m glad it didn’t work,” he admits, because he has to say something, anything to release the pressure valve on his emotions.

Strong fingers reach across and wrap around his arm. Dean risks a look, and finds Castiel smiling at him. He still looks like hell, but his expression is warm and full of affection. “Me too,” he rasps. He chuckles, then winces, but the smile doesn’t fade. “And before you let that go to your head, it’s not just because of you.”

Dean returns the smile, uncaring if his relief is painted all over his face. It’s a balm to his heart that Castiel is happy to be alive just for the sake of being alive. “I’ll be sure to stay humble.”

They fall silent, but Castiel keeps his fingers wrapped around Dean’s arm, until Dean shakes him loose and threads their hands together between them on the seat. The warmth of Castiel’s hand in his own comforts Dean, and he hopes the feeling goes both ways.

After a few miles, Castiel whimpers and curls in on himself, and his fingers squeeze Dean’s painfully tight. Dean bites his lips to keep himself from begging Castiel to take the pills. He pushes his foot down on the gas pedal harder. If he can’t get Cas to take some medication, then he’s going to at least get him home and comfortable as soon as possible.

* * *

By the time they’re almost back to Purgatory, Castiel is convinced his head is going to fall off. The sunglasses Dean gave him don’t seem to be doing any good, and he thinks the arms pressing against his temples might be part of the problem, but he knows that he’ll regret it more if he takes them off. The noise and vibration of the truck’s engine, combined with the patter of rain on the windows, have wormed themselves into the center of his brain, and of course the argument he’d had with Dean hadn’t helped anything either.

Part of him is still irritated as fuck with Dean for that. For pushing and pushing, when he knows Castiel doesn’t like to take medication of any kind. And he has no room to act superior about it when he refuses to take his own anxiety medication. Castiel had come across the bottles of pills a few weeks ago when he was looking for a fresh razor in the bathroom cupboard, and when Dean saw them he’d admitted that he doesn’t like how they make him feel. He only keeps them around for emergencies, just like Castiel has his own prescription stashed away for the most dire migraines _._ This one is no worse than the one he’d had the first day he’d spent in Purgatory, and he’d survived that without taking anything, so this clearly isn’t an emergency situation.

The part of him that isn’t irritated with Dean, on the other hand, is really fucking fond of him right now. It’s been such a long time since anyone has worried this badly over his headaches.

He sees the concern every time Dean looks at him. Every time the truck hits a bump in the road he winces in sympathy. And even though the argument is over, he can practically hear Dean telling himself to keep his mouth shut about the pills.

Guilt nibbles away at him inside for the way he’d snapped at Dean earlier, revealing something he’s never told anyone else. But it’s also a relief to have it out there. Dean had clearly been horrified, and Castiel had braced himself for a lecture. A grand speech about how life is too precious to throw away, blah blah blah.

Instead, Dean had offered him comfort. Simple words; _I’m glad it didn’t work._ Spoken so softly that Castiel almost missed them. 

It catches him off guard how good it felt to hear Dean say that to him.

Castiel sighs and leans his forehead against the window. The rain has left the glass cool to the touch, and it eases some of the ache as it leaches the heat from his skin. Closing his eyes against the passing scenery blurred by a film of water on the window, he tries to ignore the painful beating in his head. It hasn’t escaped his notice that the truck had accelerated, and they are very probably going over the speed limit. 

He appreciates that. Getting home quickly is a good idea. He needs to lie down on his stomach in a dark, quiet room with a cool cloth on the back of his neck.

The headache had surprised him, coming on faster than usual. His vision had filled with halos while he was shopping, and it escalated quickly into tunnel vision. He’d rushed through the rest of his shopping, buying a couple weeks of clothing, including some warmer things for the upcoming change in the seasons. His hopes that it would hold off until he could make it home died by the time he reached the truck and realized he couldn’t see well enough to drive. The pain hadn’t started yet, but he knew from experience that the upcoming migraine was going to be a bad one.

Hoping that a nap would help, he’d crawled into the back of the truck and attempted to sleep. Unfortunately that hadn’t worked and he’d been wide awake and trying to breathe through the thumping pain at the center of his brain when his phone began to ring. Dean’s voice on the other end had made him almost light headed with relief, and he’s so very grateful that Dean had come to his rescue.

When they pull into the carport behind Dean’s garage, Castiel lifts his head and looks over to see Dean staring at the bottle of Excedrin in the cupholder. His knuckles are white from how tight he’s gripping the steering wheel.

The last of his annoyance melts away. Dean still wants him to take something, but he’s not pushing anymore, because he respects Castiel’s wishes even if he vehemently disagrees with them.

The idea of putting one of those pills in his mouth and swallowing it makes Castiel’s stomach roil in protest. He hasn’t been clean for very long, and he has no idea how easy it will be for him to backslide into addiction, and he’s not willing to risk it. He just needs a little more time.

The engine turns off and Castiel lets out a relieved breath at the sudden silence. It takes more effort than it should to sit up straight, and he fumbles for the door handle. The drop to the ground is short, but he feels a little wobbly once he’s on his feet. He tries to shut the door quietly, but the clang still makes him wince.

Dean comes around the front of the truck and wraps his arm around Castiel’s waist, guiding him in the direction of the house. “I hope you don’t mind that I brought you to my place,” he says quietly once they’re inside and in Dean’s bedroom. “I didn’t want you to be alone while you’re sick.”

Castiel lifts his head, peering at Dean through the sunglasses still perched on his face. His breath catches in his throat when he sees the way Dean is looking at him. His eyes are wide, and he’s chewing his bottom lip hard enough that it’ll probably be red and swollen from the abuse when he finally stops. He looks _truly_ concerned, and Castiel wonders if he really looks that bad. Hannah has never looked at him quite the way Dean is right now.

But then again, he would have taken his medications when he felt a migraine coming on back when they were together. She’d never seen him go without.

There’s a little voice in the back of his mind whispering that she’d watched him suffer through his injuries in the hospital. And she’d always seemed more nervous around him than concerned for his well being. He pushes the thought away. It’s no good to dwell anymore on how his marriage hadn’t been as solid as he’d assumed. 

He’s here with Dean now. And Dean _is_ concerned for his well being. 

Wanting to give him some reassurance, he smiles. “I’m glad you did. This place is starting to feel like home.”

A tiny, hopeful smile lights up Dean’s face. “Really?”

Castiel would laugh with delight if he weren’t afraid of how much it would hurt his head right now. Dean sounds like a little boy who’s just been told he’s getting a present and it’s not his birthday or Christmas. “Yes, really,” he confirms, and it feels truer than anything he’s ever said before.

And even though he can tell that Dean is still very concerned about his condition, the words seem to ease something in him. He’s infinitely gentle as he helps Castiel lower himself to the mattress, and then he kneels down and removes Castiel’s boots for him. He even guides Castiel’s feet onto the bed, and pulls a sheet over him as he settles back against the pillows. 

Dean sits on the edge, and leans over him, pressing a soft kiss against his aching forehead. “Good,” he says so softly, that Castiel isn’t sure it’s meant for him. He sits back up and starts running the tips of his fingers in small circles around Castiel’s forehead and eyes. “Is this okay?”

Better than okay. The tightness around his eyes loosens under Dean’s touch. His heartbeat still thuds painfully under his skull, but the way Dean is touching him feels marvelous. “Mhm.”

He relaxes into the mattress, silently admitting that Dean’s right about the benefits of memory foam. Dean’s scent rises up around him, relaxing him even more as he breathes it in.

It’s not a large bed, only a full size, not even a queen. When they share the bed it’s a little bit of a squish for two large men, but Castiel doesn’t mind because Dean will curl into him, and even in the heat of summer, he relishes the closeness. He thinks of the queen bed in his motel room, then of his king sized bed back in Boston, and he smiles at the idea of sharing it with Dean. They would probably gravitate toward each other in their sleep, even with all that extra space.

“What’s that smile for?” Dean is using both hands now, his fingers hooked around the back of Castiel’s neck, and his thumbs stroking along the sides of his head.

The pressure he’s applying is sometimes too little, sometimes too much, but ultimately just what he needs. He holds back a groan, afraid it’ll give the wrong message and that Dean will stop. “Just imagining what it would be like to see you spread out on a king sized bed,” he answers, unable to help the hint of mischief in his tone. They're not the exact truth, but his sense of humor, and some of his libido, is resurfacing under Dean’s gentle ministrations.

Dean’s soft laugh is deep and warm, and the jolt of happiness it gives Castiel seems to ease his pain a little more. “That’s naughty, Cas.”

“You bring it out in me,” Castiel accuses, smiling. A groan finally slips out when Dean’s fingers bump up against where the pain seems the worst. “That feels good.”

Strong fingers continue to press against the back of his head and neck, and Castiel falls silent. The massage is wonderful, relaxing him in all the best ways, although he can tell that the migraine will only rage back up once the touch disappears.

He sucks in a deep breath and sighs it out very slowly. Opens his eyes just enough to peek at Dean through his lashes in the dim room. He can hear the resignation in his own voice as he speaks. “I’ll take a couple of those pills.”

Dean’s fingers go still for just a heartbeat, then resume what they’re doing. “Are you sure?”

Castiel bares his teeth in a grin. After the way Dean had argued with him earlier, _now_ he’s asking if Castiel is sure? Why on earth does that make him even more fond of the handsome asshole? “Yes. Just two, please.”

“Okay. I’ll be right back.” Dean’s fingers slip out of Castiel’s hair, and he gets up and leaves the room.

When the door opens, Lore slips through and hops up on the bed. Her whiskers tickle Castiel’s cheek when she sniffs at him, and he reaches up to pet her. The soft rumble of her purr starts up immediately, and she settles herself in the space between his chin and shoulder. Her silken fur against his jaw makes him smile.

Dean returns a few minutes later with a glass of water. Lore gives them both an irritated look when Castiel rises up on an elbow and dislodges her, but she doesn’t go far. When Dean places two white tablets in his palm, Castiel stares down at them for a long moment.

Fear claws at his throat, and the pulsing in his brain increases to a frantic rate. He knows they’re just over the counter meds, not something that he could become addicted to. But what if he builds up a tolerance to their effects and has to start taking stronger doses until he works his way back up to using prescriptions again? 

He doesn’t want to go back to that.

His stomach roils uneasily, making him wonder if he’ll even be able to keep them down if he swallows them. His fingers twitch with the urge to throw them away.

But he knows this is different. He knows what signs to watch for, and what led him down the wrong path in the first place. This is only for a headache, not a way to curb his depression. He’s no longer suffering the heartbreak of a broken marriage.

A worry niggles at the edge of his consciousness. About Dean, and whether Castiel is going to become too dependent on him for his happiness, the way he might have done with Hannah.

He immediately discards the thought for the pain induced trash that it is. Dean makes him happy. But he got to the point where he could accept that happiness through his own strength of will. 

With that thought held firmly in mind, he pops the pills in his mouth and swallows them down with half the glass of water. Dean takes the glass and sets it on the bedside table as Castiel settles back against the pillows. Lore cuddles up against his shoulder again, and he lets out a long sigh when his stomach doesn’t try to rebel. “Thank you, Dean. For taking care of me when I’m too stubborn to take care of myself.”

Dean’s fingers come back to his face, stroking softly. “Anytime, sweetheart.”

Sooner than expected, the edges of Castiel’s pain softens. Muscles held too tightly begin to loosen, and his scalp tingles mildly. He reaches up to wrap his fingers around Dean’s wrist, stopping the slow caresses that are too much now. “Lie down with me.”

His request is immediately answered with Dean crawling over him and curling up against the side that Lore hasn’t claimed as her own. Dean is warm and solid against him, his breath a gentle heat against his skin. While he wishes the last dregs of his headache would fuck off, he’s glad that he’s here in this bed with Dean, taking comfort in his presence.

Feeling sleepy, but not quite enough to slip under, Castiel runs his fingers over Dean’s back in small random patterns, while he thinks about how difficult it must have been for him to drive to Crossroads.

“Thank you for coming to get me,” he says after a while. “I know that must have been hard for you.”

“It wasn’t actually.” Dean shifts until his chin is pressed against Castiel’s shoulder. “Hell, I barely registered that I was going anywhere, except to where you were. Because you needed me.”

“That’s good, right?” Castiel asks.

“Yeah, maybe.” Dean presses a kiss against the bolt of his jaw. “I choose to see it like that, anyway.” 

He’s quiet for a long moment, and when he speaks again, Castiel is reminded of their night up by the hot springs. When he’d talked for the first time about his injuries. “Therapist says it’s agoraphobia.”

Castiel lifts his hand to the back of Dean’s head, cupping it gently and returning the gentle massage. He waits, giving Dean room to share at his own pace.

“I’m not like… afraid of going outside. Obviously.”

Castiel smiles, and scratches lightly at Dean’s scalp. “Obviously.” 

Dean huffs like he’s not sure if Castiel is mocking him or not, but he doesn’t call him out on it. “It’s just… I don’t do well in unfamiliar places, or around crowds of strangers. Places I don’t feel… y’know, safe.”

That’s basically what Castiel had assumed, but it’s good to know that Dean is aware of it and has talked with his therapist about it. “Has your therapist suggested any therapies?”

“Drugs and exposure,” Dean grumbles. “Pam’s always giving me the hard homework.”

Castiel chuckles, and there’s a stab through the center of his brain, but it’s muted compared to what he was feeling before. It’s been a long time since he’s taken over the counter meds, and it’s nice to know that they’ve started working for him again after going so long without. 

“Do you think, maybe, you could work on that?” Castiel asks. 

Dean turns his head on Castiel’s shoulder so he can look at him through russet lashes. “Gonna have to, eventually.” His own shoulder lifts in a half shrug. “If we ever wanna go joyriding in my baby.”

Castiel smiles. “I would like that very much.”

The smile Dean gives him is wry, his eyes shadowed with doubts. He tilts his head back down on Castiel’s shoulder and they lie there in companionable silence, which is a mercy to Castiel’s aching head.

He thinks about what it would be like. To sit in the passenger seat of the impala, driving anywhere they want to go. Maybe eventually they could even point the car towards Boston. 

Someday he wants to take Dean back there with him to visit. It’s been such a long time since he’s brought someone home to meet his family that the thought actually makes him nervous. He knows without a doubt that his mother would accept Dean, and their relationship. She was supportive the last time he talked to her, when he told her he was going to be staying in Purgatory.

His father is another issue entirely. Their relationship isn’t exactly bad, not anymore, but it is still somewhat rocky. Castiel had stopped trying to gain his approval a long time ago, but it still hurts whenever he gets a lecture about how he can live his life better. But he hasn’t let his father’s disapproval stop him from pursuing the things that make him happy in years, and he’s not going to stop now, especially not in regards to his relationship with Dean.

He turns slightly, curling around Dean. Lore cuddles against his shoulder blades, and her soft fur against his skin is relaxing. 

Being here, with Dean, is definitely making him happy. Thinking about introducing him to his family, his friends, that makes the warm glow in his heart go up a few degrees.

He wonders what his friends will think of Dean. Rowena has already decided that he must be something special to have caught Castiel’s attention. Charlie is reserving judgement. She’d come across his military record, and while she didn’t share the contents, because she’s a hypocrite about looking at those things herself but not letting anyone else, she did warn him to watch out for violent behaviors.

Castiel isn’t worried. Of course Dean has lived through violence. It would be ridiculous to think a veteran hadn’t. But the Dean he’s coming to know and care for is kind and gentle, and if there’s any inherent violence in him, Castiel can’t imagine it manifesting as anything other than protectiveness. Something that he’s found within himself as well, so he cannot judge.

Everyone in Purgatory trusts Dean, looks up to him as a hero. They share stories about his good deeds, his willingness to help anyone who needs him. He’s earned too much respect for Castiel to heed any of Charlie’s warnings. And Castiel knows already that once she’s given Dean a chance, they’ll probably be the best of friends. 

This is all speculation of course. He has no intention of visiting Boston any time soon. Purgatory is as good of a place as any to continue to avoid his problems.

At his side, Dean’s breathing evens out and his muscles go loose with sleep. Castiel turns his head and presses a kiss against his forehead. He inhales deeply, taking comfort in his sleeping lover’s scent. Car grease and sweat and the tangy soap Dean uses. It eases him closer to his own peaceful slumber. 

A few last fuzzy thoughts about Boston no longer feeling like home float across the last vestiges of his consciousness.

When he wakes, his head no longer hurts, Dean is gone, and the room is pitch black. He rolls to reach for the bedside table, dislodging Lore from her spot behind his shoulders. Patting around for a moment reveals that Dean had left his phone on the bed, and its screen lights up when his fingers brush it. He squints against the light and checks the time. It’s just after eight in the evening. He grimaces in irritation for losing most of his day to sleep. 

Castiel rolls off the bed, standing gingerly, but being upright doesn’t bring his headache back. His stomach growls loudly, reminding him he hasn’t eaten since breakfast.

When he opens the bedroom door he finds Sam and Eileen sitting at the small dining room table, signing to each other. They look up at him, brightening like they’re glad to see him.

“You feeling better?” Sam asks softly, like he’s been warned not to make too much noise.

“Yes, much better, thank you.” Castiel responds, signing as well for Eileen. “Where’s Dean?”

“Back here,” Dean calls from the kitchen.

Castiel waves at Sam and Eileen, and slips down the little hallway to find Dean standing at the stove, making grilled cheese sandwiches. 

Dean looks up, his eyes sweeping over Castiel. When he doesn’t find anything wrong, he smiles. “Mornin’, sunshine,” he says. “Hungry?”

“Starving.” Castiel crosses the small kitchen and kisses Dean’s shoulder before leaning up on his toes to look past him. His mouth waters at the sight of the golden brown bread with cheese leaking over the sides. In addition to the sandwiches there is a pot of tomato soup with steam rising from it.

“Grab some dishes,” Dean orders gently.

Castiel does as he’s asked, and soon they’re sitting at the table with Sam and Eileen. The meal is simple but delicious, and the company is enjoyable. After they’re all finished, Sam and Eileen head out, wishing Castiel better health as they head out the door.

“You really shouldn’t let me sleep all day,” Castiel scolds as he helps Dean clean up.

“You needed it.” Dean looks up from the sink, and gives Castiel a concerned frown that makes his dimples deepen around his mouth. “Have your migraines always been this bad?”

Castiel shrugs as he fishes a clean dish towel from a drawer. “Not often.” He starts drying the dishes Dean has already washed. “But then again, I’ve been taking medication for them since I was in high school, so I didn’t really notice. I’ve had a few minor ones since I’ve come here, probably from the dry heat, but they were manageable. I think the sudden change in the weather may have triggered this one.”

“How come you didn’t say anything about them?”

“They were minor, really,” Castiel says with a reassuring smile. “I just need to be more careful not to stay out in the heat all day.”

It doesn’t seem to reassure Dean at all. He scrubs even harder at the already clean soup pot in his hands. “Is that why you’re only working part time?”

Castiel wonders what the point of this line of questioning is, but he assumes Dean will get there eventually. “Not really. There aren’t a lot of job opportunities in a small town. Ellen doesn’t need me full time.”

The dishes finished, Dean turns and leans his hips against the counter. He snags the towel from Castiel and dries his hands. “Do you think you’d ever want to be a cop again?”

The question confuses Castiel, and he pauses to give Dean a questioning look before answering. “Well technically I still am,” he says slowly. “I haven’t resigned from my position in Boston. I’m on extended leave, but my boss says I can have my job back whenever I’m ready for it.”

Something about his words seems to upset Dean. His dimples deepen, and his gaze drops to the floor. His arms cross over his chest, and Castiel senses him pulling away even though he doesn’t physically move. “Is that what you want?” Dean asks, still staring at the linoleum under his feet.

“No, I don’t,” Castiel says with complete conviction. He steps closer, resting a hand on Dean’s shoulder and tilting his head down in an attempt to catch Dean’s gaze with his own. “Dean, what is this all about?”

Dean lets out a sigh, and his muscles relax under Castiel’s palm. His eyes are relieved when he looks up. “I’m sorry. I was fishing to see if you’d be interested in working with Jody and Sam at the sheriff’s station, and I managed to freak myself out that you were leaving instead.”

Castiel blinks. He doesn’t know which half of that statement to address first. A job as deputy? It hadn’t even occurred to him to see if they had a position open. The hint of doubt shadowing Dean’s expression makes the decision easy for Castiel. He smiles and leans in to wrap his arms over Dean’s shoulders. Dean makes a tiny noise when Castiel kisses him. It sounds needy, but not in a sexual way. Castiel kisses him deeper, trying to convey comfort directly through the press of their lips, and Dean relaxes further, kissing him back.

When the kiss fades to an end, Castiel rests their foreheads together. “I’m not planning on going anywhere any time soon.”

Dean clears his throat and smiles sheepishly. “I’m glad.”

So is Castiel. But now he wants to know where this job idea had come from. “What makes you think that I should work at the sheriff’s office?” He loosens his grip, but doesn’t move back because Dean’s arms have settled around his waist and he rather likes where he’s at right now.

“Sam came by this morning to talk to you about it,” Dean says. “Apparently Jody’s been thinking of hiring anyway, and you came along just in time.”

The subject didn’t come up during dinner, but Castiel assumes Sam didn’t want to give him something to think about too hard after spending the day in bed with a migraine. “Well I'm definitely interested, if the offer is on the table.”

Dean’s grin lights up the room, putting the overhead light to shame. “I’ll bet you’re hot in a uniform.”

Castiel huffs a laugh. “I’ve been told that once or twice,” he admits. As a detective he hadn’t been required to wear one, but he certainly won’t mind wearing one again if doing so will earn him the same heated look Dean is giving him right now. And he’ll have access to handcuffs again, which gives him all kinds of ideas…

“If you’re going to get a full time job…” Dean’s voice is hesitant, and he directs his gaze over Castiel’s shoulder. “Maybe you should get a more permanent place to live.”

Castiel’s attention snaps back to Dean, all thoughts of handcuffs swept aside. “Yes… probably.”

“Maybe you could move in here,” Dean suggests softly.

Castiel’s jaw sags. “Really?”

Dean gives a one shoulder shrug. “I mean, Lore really likes you. Gets mopey when you leave.”

A slow smile spreads across Castiel’s lips. “Does she now?”

“Oh yeah. The whole movin’ in thing was her idea.”

Castiel tilts his head back on a laugh. When he calms, he finds Dean smiling at him with so much warmth and affection it makes Castiel’s heart flutter. He lifts his hand from Dean’s shoulders and runs his nails over Dean’s scalp. “Well, I can’t let Lore down now, can I?”

“Would be kinda rude, yeah.” Dean’s smile is all perfect teeth and excitement, but Castiel doesn’t get to admire its beauty for very long because he’s suddenly being kissed. Hard and thoroughly. He tastes peppery tomato soup, and Dean, and he surrenders under the onslaught.

When Dean lets him up for air, Castiel laughs. “Now that that’s settled…” He sounds breathless. He _feels_ breathless. “What are we going to do for the rest of the evening? I’m going to be up all night because you let me sleep all day.”

“I’ll stay up with you,” Dean says in a low husky tone that makes Castiel feel like he’s being stroked all over. He rolls his hips forward, and it’s obvious even through the layers of their clothing that he’s not suggesting a movie marathon.

“I’d like that.” Castiel steps backward, keeping his grip around Dean’s shoulders and backing towards the hallway and the bedroom. He grins wickedly. “Just out of curiosity… how do you feel about handcuffs?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for discussions of suicide attempt.
> 
> Happy Thanksgiving! I'm thankful for all of you XD
> 
> For NaNo I'm at 48854 / 50000. SO CLOSE.


	23. Chapter 23

Singing quietly along with the music coming from his grease smudged ipod, and bouncing his toes to the beat, Dean lies stretched out under a car while he removes the parts for a restore job he’s doing for someone out in Crossroads. It would probably be an easier job if he had it up on risers, but he doesn’t want to take up the space inside the garage in case a client comes in. 

He doesn’t have any work lined up, other than a few oil changes that Jo is handing, so he’s working on his own project today. Ideally he’d love to switch to a full restoration gig, but he’s not exactly in a good place for it. B.F.E ain’t got nothing on Purgatory. And in the meantime, he can go through the junkers in Bobby’s old scrap yard, clean ‘em up pretty, and put them on ebay. He makes enough each time to fund his next project, or to get an original part for the Impala. 

The day is relatively cool, the weather finally starting to feel more like autumn now that they’re well into October. Castiel gave him a skeptical look when Dean mentioned needing a hoodie this morning, but that’s probably because he’s accustomed to the apocalyptic cold winters in New England. Castiel had insisted that it isn’t _that_ cold in Boston, and Dean had countered with the argument that Purgatory summers aren’t _that_ hot.

They’ll probably never agree on the weather.

Not that either of them mind having a little bit of a disagreement. They haven’t been together long enough to determine if they’re going to be the kind of couple who bickers, but if they do it’ll probably always be over medications. Dean had finally convinced Castiel he might as well keep a bottle of over-the-counter painkillers with him while he’s on the job. Being Purgatory’s new deputy doesn’t really keep Castiel all that busy, but a migraine sneaking up on him in the middle of a shift is not something he should be dealing with.

That had caused an all out fight actually, with Castiel leaving and staying the night in the motel, although he’d officially been moved in with Dean for a few weeks. Unable to sleep, Dean had gone pounding on his door at two in the morning, which he expected to lead to more arguing. But Castiel must have cooled down, because he’d let Dean say his piece and conceded that he was probably right. And then they’d had some really fantastic makeup sex. Motels are always fun for that.

In the almost three months they’ve been together they’ve learned enough to avoid most misunderstandings though. And the ease with which their lives have settled in together is part of why Dean’s in such a good mood right now. It’s Friday, and they’re going up to the hot springs after they’re both off work. It’s the end of Castiel’s first week as deputy, and they’re going to celebrate.

The sound of a vehicle pulling into the gravel out in front of the garage makes Dean tip his head to the side and peer around his arm to see who it is. His eyes light up when he recognizes Sam stepping out of his personal truck and crunching across to stand next to the junker Dean’s under. 

Sam drops to one knee and bends down to peer at him under the edge. “Hey Dean.”

“Sammy!” Dean greets cheerfully as he goes back to his work. “What brings you by, little brother?”

“I heard you and Cas are heading up to the mountains tonight to celebrate, and I was wondering if you’re planning on taking the four-wheelers.”

Dean grunts as a particularly hard to reach bolt comes loose. A shower of rust flakes drift down, and he turns his face away. Damn, he should’a put on some safety goggles. “No, we’re going up to the hot springs.” Before he can ask, Sam is already up on his feet and jogging into the garage. He returns quickly and passes Dean the goggles he needs. Dean smiles gratefully as he slips them on. “Do you want to use them?”

“If you’re okay with it. Eileen and I feel like going out for an adventure too.”

“Ooo la la!” Dean teases. His mouth tastes like rust. Maybe he should stop and get a mask, too. He wriggles out from under the car, and pulls his t-shirt up to wipe his face. “Where you planning on going?” he asks as he heads for the mini-fridge. 

Sam shakes his head when Dean silently offers him a rootbeer. “Just out to the flats,” he answers, referring to an area of land that isn’t flat at all, but looks that way from a distance. It’s a great place to go wheeling because of the rolling hills that spread across the land like gentle waves. Lots of fun at high speed. Like a roller coaster in some places.

But it can be a pretty dangerous place if you’re going too fast, or you’re not experienced driving a four wheeler. It’s easy to lose your seat or roll the machine if you’re not careful. Dean’s protective instincts roar to life, but he does his best to ignore them. Sam is experienced, and has been riding through those hills since he was big enough to drive one of the four-wheelers on his own. “Yeah, you can borrow them,” he says. And then because he can’t throw caution completely to the wind, adds “but you need to take the CB radio with you.”

“Dean--”

“No radio, no keys.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “I wasn’t going to say no, you jackass. I was just going to remind you that I’m not an idiot, and that was already my plan.”

Dean hums. “Whatever, bitch. Just be careful.”

“Jerk,” Sam mumbles. But his eyes are alight with a fond smile.

Dean fetches the keys and helps him hook up the trailer to the truck. They test the CB’s batteries before he leaves.

After Sam is gone, Dean suddenly feels jittery. It’s probably paranoia, and it’ll fade soon. Sooner if he can distract himself. The clock on the wall tells him he missed lunch, but he isn’t hungry. And he’s no longer in the mood to crawl back under the junker to strip more parts. So he decides to go buy some supplies for tonight’s trip up to the hot springs. 

After he’s bought a few groceries, deftly fending off Becky’s attempts to rope him into conversation about his brother, the jitters have gone away and he’s hungry again. He bought some sandwiches because he knows Castiel likes the pre-packaged ones from the store, and decides to stop by the sheriff’s office to see if his boyfriend needs to be fed.

To his disappointment, Castiel isn’t there when he walks in. Jody is in her office, and Mildred is reading a book over at the dispatch desk, but otherwise the place is empty. He sighs, but decides that since he’s here, he might as well say hi to Jody. He brought enough food to feed anyone who might be in the office anyway. Might as well feed everyone, right?

He stops by to say hello to Mildred, walking away with warm cheeks after her effusive greeting and gratitude. When he knocks on the doorframe of her office, Jody looks up from her paperwork. She lights up with a welcoming smile. “Hey, Dean! What brings you here?”

“Hey Jody.” He holds up the bag of sandwiches. “Hungry?”

She sits up straight and makes a grabby hand motion at him. “Hell yes! Bring that over here.”

Chuckling, he crosses the room and drops the bag on the desk, then settles in the chair in front of her desk as she begins to dig through the offerings. “Hey, save some of those for me,” he complains when it looks like she might claim the whole bag.

Jody sticks her tongue out at him before picking the spicy italian sub and pushing the bag back in his direction. Dean grabs one of the turkey sandwiches, and they split the mayo and mustard packets between them. The only sound for the next few minutes is the rattle of paper and plastic as they fix up their meals, and then mostly silence as they begin to eat.

About half way through the sandwich, Jody lets out a pleased sigh. “This really hits the spot. Thank you, Dean.” She pulls a pickle out and pops it in her mouth. “So I assume you didn’t just come to feed me?”

“I came to feed Cas,” Dean says around his own mouthful of food. “But I brought enough to share too.”

“Your boyfriend is out on patrol.” She settles back in her chair and eyes her sandwich like she’s trying to decide the best angle to resume her attack from.

The title makes heat rise up in his cheeks, and a tiny smile pulls at his lips. He really likes hearing people refer to Cas as his boyfriend. “Oh well,” he says, only slightly disappointed. It’s been a while since he’s just hung out with Jody. He might as well take advantage of the time now. “How’s he doing, anyway?”

“As well as expected for someone with his credentials and experience,” she says. “It’s not like there’s a lot for him to do around here though. It’s pretty hard to screw up being a small town cop. His old boss is pissed at me for stealing him though.”

That comment catches him by surprise. He pauses the motion to take another bite and gives her a questioning look. “How do you know that?”

“I talked to him. Castiel had a few things on his record that I wanted to clear up, so I called. Despite a rough patch just before he took his leave, his boss was singing his praises like a goddamn nightingale. Then when he realized I was doing a background check so I could hire him, his tune sure changed. They want Castiel back in Boston, real bad.”

Dean grins smugly. Boston’s loss, Purgatory’s and _his_ gain. “Well thanks for giving him a reason to stay.”

Jody barks a laugh. “I’m not an idiot, I know what he’s really here for. You should feel pretty damn special for that too. He had a lot going for him back in Boston.”

Dean’s smile slips a little. Something about the way she said that feels a little ominous. His appetite sours, and he sets the uneaten half of his sandwich on the desk. “What do you mean?” 

He was going for casual, but he can tell by the look she gives him that he failed.

“I’m not supposed to talk about things that come up in his background check,” she hedges.

“C’mon, Jody!” His tone is half irritation, half pleading. “You can’t say something like that and just expect me to leave it alone.”

“Calm down,” she orders, but amusement sparks in her eyes. “If he had anything back there that was more important to him than you, he’d be gone already.”

That makes him feel a little better. It hadn’t even occurred to him that he was afraid Castiel would want to go back until Jody put it into words. “So are you going to tell me what you mean, or not?”

She laughs at his pout, and he can’t even be annoyed because he knows there’s nothing malicious behind it. “I’ll tell you some of it.” She leans her elbows on the desk and nibbles the last bits of her sandwich, no longer caring about manners apparently. “Your boyfriend is rich, for one thing. I have no idea why he even bothers with a job.”

Dean blinks. That isn’t what he was expecting at all. Then again, he didn’t really know what to expect. “Really?”

“Oh yeah. Family owns a lucrative brewery, famous for their hard ciders.” She pauses and gives him a cautious look. “He was married too.”

Dean’s still hung up on the fact that Cas is rich enough to not need to work. That explains why he hadn’t been in a hurry to find a job at first. And to think, he’d been worried it was because Cas was holding back on settling down in Purgatory. He nods when he realizes Jody is waiting for a reaction. “I knew that. They’ve been divorced for a while.”

She nods approvingly. Probably testing to see how honest Cas has been with him. It makes his heart pulse with fondness for her. She’s only about a decade older than him, but she’s adopted him as one of her stray ducklings. She’s broken out the Mom Voice on him and Sam plenty of times over the years, and he loves her just as much as he loves Ellen for keeping a motherly eye on him after Mary passed away.

“So you didn’t actually find something I should worry about in his background check, huh?” he jokes.

“Well…” her smile fades. “He’s been on trial for manslaughter.”

He can’t help it. Tossing his head back, he laughs. Obviously Jody knows enough of the story that she isn’t worried, or she wouldn’t have talked about it over a casual lunch, and she _definitely_ wouldn’t have hired Cas as deputy. When he catches his breath, he catches a glimpse of her offended pout, which sets him off again. It takes him a good five minutes to calm the fuck down, and he has to wipe tears out of his eyes when he looks at her again. “I knew that too,” he manages to choke out between chuckles that he can’t quite control yet.

“It’s no laughing matter,” she grumbles.

She looks so disapproving that Dean bites his lips together to stop another bought of laughter. He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, and finally manages to get a grip. “I know it’s not,” he says with a grin. “But the way you announced it, seemed like you wanted to start some drama.”

“I was not,” she protests hotly.

“Uh huh.”

Glaring darkly, she opens her mouth to protest again, but is interrupted by the sound of the front door opening. Voices carry back to the office, and Dean smiles when he hears Castiel speaking with Mildred.

After a moment he comes to Jody’s office, probably to officially report his return. His eyes widen in pleasure when they light on Dean. “Hello, Dean,” he says brightly. “What are you doing here?”

Dean takes a moment to admire Castiel in his uniform. He isn’t sure he’ll ever get over the thrill of arousal he feels when he sees Cas wearing it. The first time Castiel had put it on, Dean had been hard pressed to let him leave the house. Only when Castiel had promised to “arrest him” as soon as he got home, had Dean finally released him.

That had been an enjoyable evening. It turns out he _does_ have a thing for handcuffs.

Jody nudges the bag in the center of her desk. “He brought food.”

Castiel steps closer to the desk, but he reaches for Dean before he reaches for the food. His broad palm comes to rest on the back of Dean’s neck, massaging gently. Dean has to suppress a shiver when Castiel’s thumb brushes through the short hairs on his nape. “Thank you for lunch, Dean,” he says softly.

Out of the corner of his eye, Dean sees Jody prop her chin on her hands and the flash of her grin. Heat rises up in his cheeks, but he hides his embarrassment behind a light scoff. “Just doing my wifely duties.”

The tiny upward curl of Castiel’s lips sends some of the heat from his cheeks in a more southerly direction. His blue eyes drop to Dean’s lips, lingering there for a moment before he turns to look at his food options. His hand stays on the back of Dean’s neck, as he digs through the bag with the other. 

“Is it alright if I eat in here, Sheriff?” he asks respectfully. 

Jody snorts and waves a hand at the other empty chair in the room. “Pull up a chair, Cas.” She fixes him with a glare softened by amusement as he settles next to Dean. “How many times do I gotta tell you all that formality isn’t necessary here? You can call me Jody.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Castiel’s eyes sparkle when Jody rolls her eyes. Dean loves seeing him poke at Jody. It’s good for her. Castiel tosses him a wink, before turning his attention to adding condiments to his sandwich. “So what kind of dirt were you two discussing about me?”

Jody’s sudden blush makes Dean bark out a laugh. He doubts Castiel heard any of their conversation, but he’s comfortable enough with Jody to tease her about the possibility. 

Throwing Jody under the bus because he’s a little shit, Dean says “Jody was trying to shock me with the results of your background check.”

Castiel doesn’t even look up from rearranging the pickles the way he likes them. “Did it work?”

“No,” Jody sighs. “You’re frustratingly honest.”

“I apologize. I’ll endeavor to be a worse boyfriend in the future.” 

When Dean laughs, Jody gives them both a fondly disgusted look. “Alright, I’m done with both of you.” She waves both hands in a shooing motion toward the door. “Get out of my office.”

* * *

Castiel settles into the seat behind his desk, and watches Dean flop down in the chair across from him. It’s hard not to smile while watching the other man. The chair is too small for him, so his long limbs are spread out in a controlled sprawl that should make him look gangly, but somehow manages to make him look like a lounging mountain lion instead.

A scarred mountain lion. They’re hidden under his clothes, and deep under a cheerful facade, but Castiel knows they’re all there. And every single one of them, physical or otherwise, only enhances his beauty in Castiel’s eyes, even if he wishes Dean had never suffered any of the pain that created them. 

It’s hard to imagine him without them though. The first time he’d had dinner at Sam and Eileen’s home, he’d come across a collage of family pictures. He’d found a few of Dean when he was younger, before he’d gone off to war, before he’d lost his parents and felt like he had to take on the responsibility of taking care of Sam. He’d been so young, eyes guileless, smile bright as a comet. 

Castiel can sometimes glimpse that boy, when Dean gives him a flirty grin, or when he’s excited about a good deal on a new part for his Impala. But whenever he visits Sam’s home and passes those pictures, he has a hard time connecting the boy’s face with the man he’s falling in love with.

Actually, he’s kidding himself by thinking he’s only part way there. It’s a self defense mechanism to say he isn’t completely head over heels for Dean yet.

He’s not surprised he’s fallen so quickly. He’d done the same with Hannah, and had told her right away, even though they still took their relationship very slow, dating for almost a year before they even discussed living together, and waiting another year and a half to get married. In contrast, he’s already living with Dean after only three months of knowing him, but is afraid to admit that he’s in love.

Should he blame Hannah for that? Or his own insecurities?

“Hey, what’s with the serious face?” Dean kicks the leg of the desk lightly to get his attention. “You’re not getting a headache are you?”

“No, I’m fine,” Castiel says, immediately smiling when his thoughts are dragged away from darker subjects. It’s easy when he’s around Dean. “I was just thinking about things back in Boston.” That’s the truth, if not the exact details. And at this point, Dean probably knows he’s procrastinating about dealing with his old life back there.

Dean gives him a skeptical look, clearly aware that Castiel is hedging. But he doesn’t push. He never does. “Do you miss Boston?” he asks instead.

He doesn’t even have to think about it. “No. Sometimes I miss my friends, but I don’t miss Boston.”

“Well why would you?” Dean asks as he unwraps the rest of his sandwich. He slumps back in his seat, and props his boots up on the corner of Castiel’s desk. He takes a huge bite, and speaks around it. “Food there can’t be nearly as good as this.” 

Castiel rolls his eyes at Dean’s poor manners. “The view might be slightly better.”

Widening his eyes and pressing a hand against his chest in mock offense, Dean continues to talk around his half-chewed food. “Better than this?”

“Only slightly,” Castiel says as he picks up his own lunch.

They share a laugh, and continue to snark back and forth at each other while they finish their meals. Castiel is incredibly warmed by the fact that Dean brought him lunch. Hannah never came to visit him at the office while they were married. He hadn’t minded, because he understood her reasoning. She didn’t want to expose herself to the people who were brought in for processing. Maybe he should have asked her to come in to see him once in a while instead of protecting her so much though. Maybe then she wouldn’t have been so blind to exactly what his job entailed, and they might still--

He cuts that thought off. Losing Hannah had made him miserable. It still hurts that she’d left him because she couldn’t handle his “violent nature”. _Even though it had been self defense._ It feels sometimes like she didn’t even know him. For fuck’s sake, he was a _cop_. What the hell else would she have expected from him in that situation?

He’s able to look back now and see a lot of things about their relationship that had been wrong, even before the mugging. Things that he hadn’t allowed him to see because he’d wanted so badly to make her happy. She’d pretended his job didn’t exist. When he became frustrated with a difficult case, or wanted to discuss work when she was around, she’d change the subject or dismiss his worries. That had always bothered him, but he’d let it slide because he didn’t want to rock the boat. He’d done his best to keep things to himself if he thought they would bother her. He hadn’t talked about his stress, or his anger, or his disillusion when someone he knew was guilty got out of the charges against them.

And if he couldn’t talk to her about those things, then discussing their personal issues was completely out of the question.

Looking at it in hindsight, he’s sure now that their marriage would have still fizzled out eventually. But if it had happened later than it did, he wouldn’t have met Dean. The truth is that Castiel could easily wish that he hadn’t gone through two years of depression and addiction in order to find his path to Purgatory, but now that he’s here he can’t imagine his life taking any other course.

“You’re frowning again,” Dean points out.

Shaking his head, Castiel pokes an escaping pickle back where it belongs. “Sorry. Just thinking a lot today I guess.”

“Wanna talk about it?” Dean asks softly. His eyes are soft with empathy when Castiel glances up at him. 

He does actually, thought not in the office where others might listen in. But it occurs to him that he would have put off talking about his feelings with Hannah simply to avoid making things uncomfortable, but he’s eager to talk to Dean about it. Dean will listen, and maybe even offer some advice.

Thank god he’d neglected the maintenance on his motorcycle.

The thought makes him smile. “Later.” When Dean looks like he’s going to protest, Castiel shakes his head and adds. “It’s not really important, but I promise we can still talk about it later.”

Dean gives him a long, considering look. But he accepts Castiel’s assurances with a nod, and they go back to eating their lunch.

When they’re both finished eating, Dean sighs and looks at the clock. “I suppose I should get out of here and let you work.” He drops his feet to the floor, crumbling the deli paper in his hands and shooting for the wastebasket. When he makes it, he raises triumphant fists over his head. “Yeah! Nothing but net!”

“Very impressive,” Castiel says as he stands from his desk. “I’ll walk you out.”

Outside, Dean stops next to his truck and opens the door, but he doesn’t get in yet. With the door shielding them from the front windows of the sheriff’s building, he pulls Castiel into his arms. “I liked it better when you worked part time.” He leans in and nuzzles Castiel’s cheek.

Castiel chuckles. “Spoiled you, didn’t I?” He turns his head until their lips brush. “It’s only a few more hours until I’m off work and then we can--”

He’s interrupted when the CB radio tucked under the truck’s dash hisses to life. “Dean? Are you there?”

Dean jerks out of Castiel’s arms and scrambles for the radio’s mic. “Sammy? What’s wrong?”

Sam’s voice sounds strange through the radio speakers, but the wobble isn’t from signal distortion. “Dean… I need help. Had an accident.”

Hissing a curse, Dean presses the mic to his forehead briefly before speaking into it again. “Where are you?”

“Still in the flats.”

“I’ll come get you.”

“Bring a doctor.” Sam’s voice breaks. “I’m hurt. Eileen stopped the bleeding, but I don’t think I can move.”

Castiel’s eyes go wide, even as Dean turns to him with a matching expression of horror. “Dean…”

“Get Jody and go pick up the doctor,” Dean orders. He’s already moving, climbing into the truck. “I’m EMT trained, and I can help him. I’ll head out there now.”

If Dean has medical training, then his plan is a good one, so Castiel wastes no time arguing. He barely spares him a nod before spinning and running back inside. Behind him the wheels of Dean’s truck squeal as he speeds out of the parking lot.

He hasn’t met the town doctor yet, and doesn’t know where to find him, so Castiel rushes straight to Jody’s office. She takes one look at him, and is immediately up and striding around her desk. Castiel explains the situation, and she nods. She orders Mildred to call ahead so the doctor will be ready when they get there, and then leads the way to her pickup.

The doctor’s residence is on the far north end of town, but it doesn’t take long for Jody and Castiel to reach his house. He’s waiting on the porch when they pull up in his drive, a large doctor’s satchel gripped in his old gnarled hands. Castiel blinks when he sees the man. He hadn’t known what to expect, but the doctor doesn’t fit any of his preconceived notions.

He’s exactly what Castiel imagines a reaper would look like.

The man is tall, thin as a beanpole and looks just as fragile. His skin hugs his thin flesh tightly, and there’s something ancient and knowledgeable in his gaze when it meets Castiel’s through the windshield. Even though he looks like a stiff wind could knock him flat, he moves quickly and with purpose, climbing into the back of the truck, and leaning forward to speak to them through the divider.

“Quickly, please,” he intones. 

Jody obeys, and soon they’re on the road with the lights flashing on the roof, and the sirens running. She quickly makes introductions as she drives. “Castiel Milton, this is Doc.”

“Just ‘Doc’?” Castiel asks cautiously. It seems almost disrespectfully casual for the man.

“Just ‘Doc’,” the doctor responds, somehow sounding both annoyed and wry about the nickname. “I’ve heard much about you, Castiel. It is nice to finally meet you, even if the circumstances leave much to be desired.”

“Likewise,” Castiel says. They have a little time before they’ll reach the Flats, even with Jody pushing the truck far past the speed limit and weaving around the few vehicles out on the highway. He might as well use it to get to know his new acquaintance. “Do you practice medicine from your home?”

“Ah, not exactly.” Doc has a slow, deliberate way of speaking that somehow makes him sound even more ancient than he looks. “I retired long ago, but I will always be a doctor, and I help when I can. I can usually reach people here before an ambulance can.”

Castiel is grateful for that. One of the downsides to living in a small town is the lack of medical emergency services. He just hopes that Sam isn’t so badly injured that he’ll need to be taken to the hospital.

With no other subjects coming to surface through his anxiety, Castiel straightens in his seat and watches the road. For one bright hot moment, irrational resentment fills him because Sam’s accident will mean that his and Dean’s plans for the evening are cancelled. But it’s replaced immediately with guilt, because Sam’s welfare is infinitely more important than him spending a night at the hot springs. The memory of Sam’s voice wobbling as he spoke through the radio sends another hit of adrenaline through his veins, and he hates that he can’t take immediate action. Sitting in the car makes him antsy.

When Jody and Doc begin discussing the possible injuries Sam has received, Castiel bites his bottom lip and sends up a silent prayer. He hasn’t had faith that his words would reach God’s ears for many years, hasn’t prayed for his own benefit or solace for a very long time. But for Sam, and for Dean, he prays.

As a cop, he’s been in many situations like this before. Rushing to a call, worried about how bad things will be. It’s different when it’s his friend though. Nausea coils in his stomach when he thinks of how Dean will react if Sam isn’t alright. Castiel knows they have a special bond, and if Dean loses him… well he imagines that the nightmares Dean suffers from now will pale in comparison…

He needs to focus. It won’t do anyone good if he lets his imagination get the best of him. “How much further is it, Jody?”

“We’re nearly there. Keep an eye out for a dust trail and Dean’s truck.”

Just as she finishes speaking, they come up over a hill and Castiel can see nearly barren land stretching out to either side of the freeway. Rolling hills covered in scrub brush and the occasional low, gnarled evergreen bush stretch as far as he can see toward the West. Castiel shifts in his seat, and scans for signs of Dean in the wilderness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I won NaNo! I hit 51,976 by the end of November :D Not all of it will be used for this fic, but I still made a lot of progress. I'm so close to being done! SO CLOSE!


	24. Chapter 24

Finding Sam and Eileen doesn’t take Dean very long. The Flats have been one of his favorite places since he was a kid, and he’s spent hours driving through them, both on four-wheelers and in his truck, so he’s familiar with the area and the best places to go for a joyride. Sam had given him a description of where they’d parked, and haltingly explained where to find them from there. Eileen had also been smart enough to park her four-wheeler up on a rise, so it’s easy for Dean to spot.

His Bronco slides to a halt in the dirt and brush, and he jumps out to scramble down the hill where he can see Sam and Eileen at the bottom. The other four-wheeler is down in the depression, tipped on its side on top of Sam’s legs. Eileen is kneeling at his side, with his head in her lap. In the light of the afternoon sun, the dried blood on Sam’s face stands out starkly against skin gone pale with pain.

Eileen senses his presence and looks up with wide eyes. As soon as she sees him, her face crumples, and fresh tears drip down to create new tracks on her cheeks. “He’s out cold.” Despite the faint waver in her voice, she speaks clearly and calmly. “He hit his head, but he woke up just long enough to radio you. He passed out again a few minutes ago.”

Dean falls to his knees next to them, ignoring the way his left leg twinges with protest. Blocking out the pounding of his heartbeat in his own ears, he reaches out to touch Sam. Very carefully he feels around his neck. No swelling, which is good. His fingers gently brush through Sam’s hair until he finds a spot matted with blood and dirt. For the space of two heartbeats he’s transported to another place, where gunfire and screams echo through the streets and fires roar in nearby buildings. He swallows, the motion made difficult because of how dry his throat is. The scent of sand and brush clogging his sinuses does little to help.

Through sheer force of will he brings himself back to the here and now, and continues to examine Sam’s wounds. There’s already a lump forming, but at least the bleeding seems to have stopped. A head wound is serious, even if it doesn’t look bad, and he breathes deliberately through his fear. His hands are beginning to feel cold, and he keeps them moving so they don’t go numb, checking Sam’s arms and torso for any other injuries.

Once he’s sure everything else is okay, Dean turns his attention to Sam’s legs trapped under the four-wheeler. 

“I couldn’t get it off him,” Eileen says. “I don’t know how bad it is.”

Dean has a short, silent debate with himself about whether he should move it himself. Praying he’s not making the wrong decision, he stands, and braces against the vehicle. Sam lets out a pained noise when it tips off him, and Dean blanches when he sees how his leg is bent at an unnatural angle. 

Blinking blearily, Sam begins to move. “What...where am--?” he cuts off with a cry when he tries to move his leg.

Dean drops back down next to his brother. “Don’t move, Sammy,” he says soothingly. “Your leg is broken, and help is on the way.”

The sound of an engine approaching brings his head up. He knows who it is though, so he keeps his attention on his brother. “You really screwed the pooch, didn’t you little brother?”

Sam lets out a wet chuckle, and turns his face into Eileen’s touch. “Yeah, kinda.” He looks up at his wife through blurry eyes. “You okay?”

They speak softly, but Dean can barely pay attention. His mind keeps bouncing back and forth between now and then, here and there. He’s completely unaware of the grimace on his face as he concentrates on staying in the now. A hand on his shoulder startles him, and it’s only because he’s been focused so hard on controlling himself that he doesn’t lash out in alarm.

Doc is kneeling down next to Sam’s and is beginning his own examination. Dean looks up to see the owner of the hand on his shoulder is Castiel. Something in his chest relaxes a little and he sighs his relief.

“That was quick,” Dean says, referring to the fact that they’re only about ten minutes behind him. 

“Jody has a lead foot.” Castiel’s lips twist in a small smile. It fades as his gaze sweeps over Sam. “How is he?”

“Concussion,” Doc answers before Dean can speak. “And a broken leg. He will need x-rays so we can see the extent of the damage.”

“Is it safe to move him?” Castiel asks. His voice is even, soothing, but also firm with authority, and it eases Dean’s anxiety even more.

Ignoring them for a moment, Doc cuts away Sam’s pant leg and feels around while examining the skin. “I believe so, but we should keep his leg immobile as much as possible.” He looks up at Dean. “Do you have something we can use for a splint?”

“I’ve got some fishing poles in the truck.”

“I’ll get them,” Castiel says before hurrying up the hill. He comes back quickly, and hands them to Dean who helps Doc brace Sam’s leg and strap it to the poles with strips of ace bandage from his medical kit.

Keeping his eyes on his eyes as he ties off the splint, Dean is fascinated with the fact that his fingers remain so steady even though he feels completely shaken to his core. Between the panic attack hovering at the edges of his consciousness and the soul crushing worry for his brother, he feels like his fingers should be trembling at the very least. But he’s holding it together because he has to. For Sam.

Together Dean and Castiel do most of the work of lifting Sam and carrying him to Dean’s truck. Jody is up in the back, and helps guide Sam’s body into place. They work slowly and carefully, so as not to jostle him too much. From the whimpers that occasionally leak from Sam’s pale lips, they don’t a good enough job. Once Sam is settled back there, Dean looks over to see Eileen throw herself against Castiel’s chest. 

After an almost imperceptible hesitation caused by surprise, Castiel wraps his arms around her shaking shoulders. His strong hands stroke her hair, and Dean feels a flash of jealousy. Not because he thinks there’s anything more than friendship between them, but because he’d like some of that comfort for himself.

Shaking his head at himself, he climbs up in the driver’s seat. Doc takes his place in the back of the truck so he can monitor Sam on the ride to the hospital. They’ll need to go to Crossroads, so it will be a long drive.

Dean leans his head out the window. “Cas, ask Eileen if she wants to ride with me.”

She does, and Castiel helps her into the truck. 

Jody had hopped out of the back of the truck once Sam was settled, and comes around to talk to Dean. “Cas and I will get your four-wheelers back on the trailer, and get Sam’s truck back to Purgatory,” she says. “I’ve put a call ahead of you so highway patrol doesn’t pull you over if they see you, but keep your hazards on, and _be careful_.” She gives him her trademarked Mom Face. “Don’t go crashing and getting yourselves killed.”

The warning brings a brief smile to his face. “I’ll be careful. Got precious cargo on board.”

He starts the engine, but before he can put the truck in gear, Castiel steps up and reaches through the open window to put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s going to be okay, Dean,” he promises.

Dean huffs out a breath. It doesn’t surprise him that Castiel knows just how close to a freak-out he is right now. He manages a firmer smile for Castiel’s benefit. “I know.”

Castiel gives him an encouraging smile, and then releases him and backs away so Dean can leave.

The drive to Crossroads is quiet. Doc keeps Sam talking in an effort to keep him awake, but their voices are soft murmurs, barely heard over the sound of the wind whipping past the sides of the truck. Vaguely, Dean considers whether it’s time to put the shell back on in preparation for cooler weather.

The hospital in Crossroads is small, but it’s well maintained and has a full staff of doctors to take care of dumb tourists, campers, and hikers. The ER is blessedly empty, so they’re able to take Sam in for treatment right away. Dean and Eileen keep each other company as they wait for news. Eileen sits in one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs with her legs tucked under herself while Dean paces the confines of the small waiting room. 

At least it feels small to him. He’s antsy, and if he had enough space, he’d probably jog around the room in circles just to work off some of the energy. At the very least it would warm up his extremities and chase the tingle from his fingertips.

They’d been there for almost an hour when Dean notices someone else entering the room. He stops pacing, hoping to see a doctor with news. But he’s not displeased to find Castiel striding through the door instead. He meets Cas halfway across the room, opening his arms to wrap around the other man, and taking comfort from the strength of Castiel’s arms when he returns the embrace.

“Thanks for coming,” Dean whispers into the shoulder of his uniform.

“You didn’t think I wouldn’t want to be here for you, did you?” Castiel asks, his breath warm against Dean’s neck.

Dean straightens, but doesn’t pull out of the hug. He smiles down at Castiel. “No, I didn’t think that.” He keeps his voice low. Hospitals always make him feel like it’s rude to talk louder than a whisper. “But I’m still glad you came.”

“How’s Sam?” Castiel takes Dean’s cold hand and leads him to the chairs where they can sit with Eileen. He cups both of his hands around Dean’s, rubbing warmth back into his fingers. 

“They’re worried about the head injury,” Dean answers, careful to keep his face turned so Eileen can see him speaking. He doesn’t want to pull his hands away from Castiel to sign. “But we haven’t heard anything in a little while. The Doc is with him, and he said he’d bring news as soon as he has any.”

Castiel grimaces, and turns his attention to Eileen. “How are you holding up?”

She gives him a weak smile. “I’ll feel better when I can go in and see him, but I’m alright.”

When her brave expression begins to fail, Castiel reaches out and pulls her against him again. He rocks her gently while she cries against his chest, and Dean feels a pang of guilt for not realizing she had been that close to breaking down. She’s his sister, and he should be taking care of her.

He’s just so fucking worried about Sam. Since he was four years old, and his dad had sat him down to have a talk about how important it is for him to watch out for his little brother, he’s taken the duty as seriously as any oath or vow, maybe even more so than his military career. It irritates Sam sometimes, because he’s a full grown man and would rather have Dean as his brother than his substitute father, but Dean can’t help himself. When he’d seen Sam lying in the ditch, all he could see was his bratty little brother, all skinny limbs and floppy hair, a boy who had once upon a time had to crane his neck to look up at Dean before he grew into a giant. And panic had nearly overwhelmed him. 

It still threatens to, and has only gotten worse since they got to the hospital. His last experience in a hospital had been during his own recovery. The days had been a wash of dim lights, pain interspersed with drugged hazes, and hushed voices. He’d been distantly aware they were doctors and nurses and other patients, but guilt, pain and morphine had turned those voices into nightmares. He’d hear explosions and the crying of civilians caught in gunfights in the beeping machines. Every overheard conversation morphed into accusations from his squad mates, giving him hell for surviving when they did not.

Honestly, he wishes he could break down and let Castiel hold him the same way he’s holding Eileen right now. But he isn’t that selfish. He can bottle it up for now. He has to.

His thoughts drift to the little orange prescription bottles in his medicine cabinet at home. For the first time in years he wishes he had them with him. He hates the way they leave him feeling cloudy and like he’s a brain gremlin sitting up in his own head controlling his body with a crappy Xbox controller with low batteries, but he thinks right now that might be preferable to the racing heartbeat and cold limbs. 

He just hopes that all this stress and borderline panic doesn’t send him spiralling into flashbacks. Not right now, when Sam and Eileen need him most.

“Are you anticipating bad news?”

The old doctor’s voice, laced with the same morbid amusement he always carries, makes Dean’s head jerk up, and his already overstressed heart pulses painfully. The gaunt looking old man is standing in the waiting room’s entryway, a wry smile tugging at the wrinkles around his mouth. 

Dean is the first out of his chair to approach him. “How is he, Doc?”

“Sam is fine,” Doc answers with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Stubborn as ever, and doesn’t think he should be here. He’s wrong of course. The doctors need to monitor him for at least the night, but he should be able to go home in the morning.”

All the nervous tension drains from Dean’s limbs and he has to lock his knees to keep from sinking to the floor. He forces a smile and reaches out to shake the old man’s hand. “Thanks for keeping an eye on him, Doc.” Even though Doc is retired, he’s well respected, and the hospital staff had been kind to let him oversee Sam during the examination.

Doc’s eyes sparkle with humor. “I can’t say it was my pleasure. Neither of you boys have ever been easy patients.” His eyes slide over to Eileen, and they soften. “I’m sure you would like to see him now, wouldn’t you, my dear?”

“Yes, please!” Eileen steps forward eagerly.

With a gentle, gnarled hand, Doc cups her shoulder and guides her back through the doors. When Dean moves to follow, a strong hand on his arm stops him. He turns to look at Castiel in confusion.

“Let them have a little time to themselves,” Castiel says.

“But--” Dean cuts off the impending argument, because Castiel is right. Eileen is Sam’s wife, and he needs her a lot more than he needs Dean at the moment. And now that he knows Sam is going to be okay, he can be a little patient.

The last dregs of nervous energy that had been holding him up finally bleeds away, and he’s suddenly bone tired. Taking Castiel’s hand, he leads the way over to the chairs and sags down into one. He leans his head back on his shoulders, eyes closed against the overhead fluorescents. The tight band around his chest loosens enough for him to finally fill his lungs all the way, and he sucks in a deep breath, until his ribs ache at the fullness. He blows it out in a slow sigh that leaves him lightheaded. The hand in his tightens, gripping his fingers hard until Dean turns his head, and peeks at him.

“That scared the fuck out of me,” he admits hoarsely when he sees the questions written all over Castiel’s face.

Eyes soft with empathy, Castiel leans in and wraps his arm around Dean’s shoulders. “Sam is going to be fine,” he says with firm conviction.

 _Thank god,_ Dean thinks. The knot sitting heavy in his belly loosens, and suddenly the trembling he’d been expecting earlier overtakes him. 

Castiel notices and frowns. He cups Dean’s face with his free hand. “Are you okay?” 

He didn’t know how much he needed Castiel’s touch until he feels the warmth covering his face. “I’m better than I could be,” he answers as he tilts his body toward Castiel’s and touches their foreheads together. He concentrates on all the points of contact between them. Castiel’s hand on his face, the spot where their foreheads touch, the arm around his shoulders, and their knees pressed together. Each one is an anchor to the present, keeping him from slipping away into unpleasant memories. 

“Thank you for being here,” he says softly. And he doesn’t mean just right here, right now. 

Castiel murmurs something, but Dean is too tired to register anything more than his soft tone. He closes his eyes, and sinks into Castiel’s embrace, accepting the comfort he’d been jealous of Eileen receiving earlier. He doesn’t cry. He has no reason to now. But his breath shudders on each inhale and exhale. After a few, counted out in calming exercises, he feels something inside himself stabilize.

The arms around him feel like safety and security. Dean smiles against the cloth of Castiel’s uniform, and allows himself to be thankful for small miracles.

* * *

Castiel wakes to the sound of rain drumming on the roof and pattering against the bedroom window. He blinks a few times in the gloom, and turns his head on the pillow, unsurprised to find Dean gone already. He’s not alone in the bed though. Lore is curled in a soft ball on Dean’s pillow, snoring softly.

Pushing himself up on his elbows, he squints at the bedside clock until the blurry red shapes coalesce into readable numbers. It’s only a little after eight, so he hasn’t slept too late. One of these days he’s really going to have to talk to Dean about letting him sleep in though. 

His movements disturb Lore, and she lifts her head to blink at him. He rolls closer and nuzzles against her fur, smiling when she responds with a purr that seems too big for her tiny body. Lounging in bed and cuddling the cat for another half hour sounds nice, but with a sigh, he forces himself to get up. Lore mewls softly as he jostles the bed, and he gives her fur one last ruffle, swiping his fingers backwards and leaving it sticking up in all directions. “Lazy cat.”

Lore glares at him for half a second before she starts grooming.

Chuckling at her annoyance, Castiel stretches his arms above his head, working out the kinks in his spine. Muscles twinge in intimate places, making him smile at the memory of what he and Dean did last night that left him sore in all the good ways.

Wanting to have a connection to the obnoxiously absent man, Castiel pulls on the t-shirt that Dean had been wearing the day before. It smells like old cars and sweat, and is a little too tight across his pecs, but wearing it means less laundry. Which they’ve both been putting off because neither of them likes to fold clothes and put them away. He also grabs one of Dean’s clean flannels out of the closet, not wanting to be completely disgusting, since he’s going to be socializing today.

It’s only Sam though. He won’t mind. And if he does, well Castiel will just find a way to blame it on Dean, and Sam will nod in commiseration, none the wiser.

As long as he doesn’t smell like sex, anyway. With that thought he also grabs a fresh pair of jeans, smiling to himself as he eyes the dirty pair on top of the laundry pile. Just thinking about all the sweet noises he’d coaxed from Dean while making him come without unfastening the fly makes him want to track Dean down and see if he can do it again. Too bad it’s a work day, and Jo is probably around. It wouldn’t be a problem if Dean could keep those little noises to himself, but unlike Castiel, he has difficulty controlling how loud he gets during sex. And Castiel wouldn’t want him to stifle a single whimper or groan anyway, so it’s a moot point.

He grins wickedly as he tucks himself more comfortably into his own jeans. _Down boy,_ he thinks, _there’s always later._

It’s cool enough in the house that the flannel doesn’t seem like enough so he pulls on a hoodie as well. The autumn weather everyone has been promising him has finally arrived now that it’s November, although it’s still nothing like Boston.

He pads barefoot into the kitchen and pours himself a cup of coffee. The pot is mostly full, which means Dean hasn’t been awake that much longer than he has. A look around the kitchen shows that Dean probably hasn’t eaten yet either. He’s usually meticulous about keeping the kitchen clean, but if he’s in a hurry in the morning he’ll leave his breakfast dishes in the sink to wash later.

After a few sips of sweetened coffee, Castiel sets about making breakfast. It’s just a couple eggs between buttered toast, but when Dean enters the kitchen just as Castiel is putting everything on plates, his green eyes light up with pleasure.

Strong arms wrap around Castiel’s waist and soft lips brush the shell of his ear. Beard stubble scrapes against his skin when Dean speaks. “Is this for me?”

“Half of it.” Castiel lifts one of the plates high enough for Dean to grab it.

Dean kisses his ear again before taking the proffered plate. “Awesome,” he says cheerfully.

They eat standing in the kitchen, talking about their plans. It’s Thursday which means Dean will be working, but Castiel has the day off. He usually rotates weekends with Sam, but until Sam is released to return to work, he’s been rotating weekdays off.

“You still visiting Sam today?” Dean asks as he munches through his breakfast, cheeks puffed out in a way that should not be as adorable as it is. 

The adorable factor may have something to do with the fact that the dark bags that have been marring Dean’s eyes since Sam’s accident seem to have finally faded away. He’d been having difficulty sleeping, either suffering silently through bouts of insomnia, or waking up from unpleasant dreams for nights on end. The last few nights have been good, the restlessness finally settling and letting him sleep peacefully, curled up against Castiel’s back.

“Yes I am, for a few hours.”

Dean sighs, and his shoulders slump. “Tell him I’m sorry I couldn’t come. The shop is swamped this week.”

Castiel’s lips quirk up, because he knows that Sam will probably enjoy the reprieve. The eyerolls he’s been giving Castiel behind Dean’s shoulders have been growing more pronounced and annoyed. Dean’s concern for his brother’s welfare is very endearing, but Castiel isn’t surprised that Sam finds it overbearing. 

“Maybe I can put off the radiator thing,” Dean says thoughtfully as he wipes crumbs from his lips. “I’ll just tell them I need to order--”

“You’ll do no such thing,” Castiel says as he takes Dean’s empty plate and rinses it. “Sam is recovering nicely, and he doesn’t need a babysitter. I’m only going to keep him company for a few hours while Eileen gets some work done.” He shoots Dean a pointed look over his shoulder. “Like you should be doing.”

Dean huffs, but doesn’t argue, which is an improvement. Castiel doubts he would have been so accepting of being left behind just a few days ago.

Drying his hands off on a towel, Castiel turns away from the sink. “Maybe when I’m done over at Sam’s I can come help out in the garage.” He isn’t a mechanic, but he knows his way around an engine enough that he can do simple things like oil changes and minor tune-ups.

The offer earns him a warm grin that makes Castiel’s heart flutter. “I’d like that.” There’s a honk of a car horn, which grabs his attention, and Dean sighs again. This time it’s fully for dramatic effect. “Sounds like Jo’s done waiting for me to get my ass to work. I’ll see you later.” He gives Castiel a quick peck and rushes out of the kitchen, grumbling about Jo’s impatience.

Castiel finishes cleaning up the kitchen, and zips his hoodie up on the way out the door. Despite the cooler temperatures, it’s a beautiful day and he decides to leave his bike parked so that he can walk to Sam and Eileen’s house.

When he gets there, he lets himself in, since Sam has given him a standing invitation. It still feels strange, even after all these weeks. But it seems to be a normal Winchester habit, to leave their doors unlocked and guests welcome to walk in at any time. He still knocks though, just to warn of his presence. Something he wishes people would do more often at Dean’s house, so that they don’t get startled out of compromising positions. That’s an issue that could also be solved by only having sex in the bedroom with the door closed, but that’s not nearly as fun as tackling Dean on the couch during the steamy scenes of Doctor Sexy.

Inside, Sam is sitting in an old recliner, his leg elevated on several pillows. He eyes the doorway warily, and lights up with a smile when Castiel closes it behind himself. “Hey, Cas.”

“Hello, Sam.”

“Just you today?”

“Yes, the shop is very busy and Dean thought it would be better to stay back and get some work done.” He takes a seat on the end of the couch closest to Sam’s recliner, and gives him a sly smile. “Luckily for you.”

Sam laughs and shakes his head ruefully. “No kidding, Cas. No kidding.”

“He means well,” Castiel defends gently. 

Sam rubs a hand over his face and up through his hair. It flops right back down over his forehead when he lowers his hand. “I know he does. And I love him for it. But I wish he could just get past…” 

When he trails off and covers his face with his hand again Castiel leans forward, worried. “Sam? Are you alright?”

Broad shoulders rise and fall a few times as Sam takes a few deep breaths. When he drops his hand again, his smile is strained. “I’m fine, Cas.” He rubs his hand over the cast that encases his leg from hip to ankle. He’d broken it in two places, and has to keep the entire thing imobile. “Just really sore today.”

Castiel doesn’t think that’s the whole story, but if Sam doesn’t want to talk about whatever upset him, he’ll let it go. “Would you like me to get your pain medication for you?”

“No,” Sam says. “I’ll live.” 

“Are you sure? There’s no need to suffer like this.”

Sam shakes his head, and his tone is almost apologetic when he responds. “I don’t like taking stuff like pain meds.”

“Oh, I see,” Castiel says. “I don’t either.”

“No, I mean,” Sam scrunches up his face in thought, like he’s not sure how to make his point. “It’s more like I shouldn’t.”

“Have you had bad reactions to them?” Castiel asks sympathetically. His mother is allergic to penicillin, and he knows how difficult it can be for her to find treatments for illnesses. 

Sam huffs a laugh. “Sure, if you call rehab a bad reaction.”

Shock freezes Castiel in his seat. “You’ve been to rehab?”

“Twice, actually. College is fucking hard, and exhausting, and… stims are easy to get your hands on.” Sam admits. The smile he directs at his hands in his lap is bitter. “First time in rehab didn’t stick because I didn’t really want to be there… but Dean… he wouldn’t give up on me, and he got me enrolled again after my second crash and burn. He signed up for an extra deployment so that he could pay for it, and he made sure I had everything I needed. So even though painkillers weren’t my drug of choice, I’m trying to be careful with them.” His voice goes soft, almost too low for Castiel to hear. “I don’t want to disappoint him again after everything he did for me.”

Sam continues to stare at his lap while Castiel takes a moment to absorb this new information. And it occurs to him that Sam may be worried about whether Castiel might be disappointed in him too. Which couldn’t be farther from the truth. Maybe before he experienced his own difficulties with addiction, he might have felt differently. Cops aren’t trained to be open minded about substance abuse. The complete opposite is actually what he learned. But now that he’s experienced addiction for himself, he understands there are many factors that lead people down those paths. And he was wrong to judge them harshly without considering their individual circumstances. He wishes sometimes that it hadn’t taken his own downward spiral to make such a discovery, but he’s glad that his eyes are open now.

“I understand what you’re going through,” Castiel says gently. The skeptical look Sam gives him makes him smile. “I do. I’ve been there. Well, not rehab. I went through detox in the hospital though.” He doesn’t mention the overdose. As close as he feels to Sam, he’s not ready to share that much about himself. 

It’s Sam’s turn to go still with surprise. “Really?”

Castiel nods. “So I truly do understand how you feel, about backsliding. My ‘drug of choice’,” he does the air quotes that always make Dean roll his eyes fondly, and is happy to see that Sam is not immune to the gesture either, “ _was_ opioids though. So I don’t even like to take my prescription migraine medication unless it feels like the most dire emergency. I’m terrified I’ll end up back there, and I hate the fear more than I hate the pain.”

With a sigh, Sam props his chin on his fist and gives Castiel a wry smile. “It’s pretty shitty, isn’t it?”

“Incredibly,” Castiel agrees solemnly.

After a heartbeat they both break into laughter. It’s cathartic, sharing this moment with Sam. 

When they settle down again, Sam asks “Does Dean know? About your-” he gestures vaguely at Castiel.

“Yes, we’ve talked about it.” 

“You do realize that if you ever break your leg,” Sam taps a fingertip against his cast, which is covered with brightly colored art among the signatures of all his friends and family, “he might turn into an overbearing, overprotective asshole.”

Castiel thinks back to the day Dean had to drive to Crossroads and pick him up because of his migraine. About how upset it made him to see Castiel suffering. He’d stopped pushing Castiel about taking the over the counter pain meds as soon as he understood Castiel’s fears, but he’d watched Castiel with so much concern, so much urgency in his eyes, yearning to take Castiel’s pain away. As annoyed as he’d been about the argument, Castiel treasures how much Dean had cared about him while still respecting his boundaries.

“Maybe,” he concedes. 

“Bullshit, _‘maybe’_ ,” Sam snorts. “You’ve seen him helicoptering over me for a couple weeks now.”

“It’s because he loves you,” Castiel points out. “And in my experience, having someone care enough to ‘helicopter’--” Sam chuckles over the air quotes this time, “--is vastly preferable to feeling like no one cares at all.”

Sam’s smile fades. “Is that what happened to you?”

Castiel nods, looking down at his left hand and rubbing his thumb over the bare skin of his ring finger. He can’t say he was completely abandoned during his recovery from his injuries. Even his normally distant father had taken time away from his busy schedule to visit him in the hospital, and his mother had been present when Hannah hadn’t been. But his addiction problems slipped under their radar too. He doesn’t think it’s because they don’t love him enough, but he does wonder if they weren’t paying very much attention to him once he was physically recovered, or if he was just that good at pretending there was nothing wrong. 

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Sam says softly. “But for what it’s worth, I don’t think you’d have to worry about that happening with Dean. He’s pretty gone on you, man.”

A smile tugs at Castiel’s lips, and he sends Sam a shy glance. “You think so?”

“I know so,” Sam says firmly. But then he grins, and it’s the same lopsided expression of mischief that Dean wears sometimes. Castiel wonders if it’s genetic or learned, mimicked from a big brother and hero. “But I wouldn’t suggest falling off a four-wheeler and letting it crush your leg to prove my point or anything.”

They share another laugh, and that seems to signal a mutual agreement that it’s time for a subject change. Sam suggests a documentary on wild bees, which Castiel agrees to eagerly. Eileen still isn’t back by the time lunch comes around, so Castiel heats up some of the leftover soup that Dean had made for them, and they chat about nothing subjects while they eat. 

Sam’s expression becomes pinched as the hours pass, but Castiel doesn’t offer to fetch his pain medications again. But he’s quietly glad when Sam gives in and asks for some. 

By the time Eileen returns home, dusty from work, the painkillers have kicked in and Sam is snoring softly in his recliner. Her face softens when she comes in and sees him sleeping, lines of worry fading around her eyes.

“How is he doing?” she signs.

Even though he still has a lot to learn, signing with Eileen for the last few months has really sharpened his ASL skills. And they come in handy when there’s a sleeping giant nearby. “He seems alright. Pain meds knocked him out.”

She huffs a soft laugh. “He always complains he won’t be able to sleep at night if I let him nap, but he always does just fine.”

The idea of Sam being grumpy about a midday nap makes Castiel smile. “How are you doing? Sleeping better?” he asks her. She’s looking much more rested than she has for the last few weeks.

“Yes. The nightmares seem to be going away.” She’d confided to him early on in Sam’s recovery that it had been terrifying being unable to call for help for Sam because she wouldn’t be able to hear the responses on the CB, and that they may not have gotten help in time if Sam hadn’t retained consciousness for a short time. It had taken a small intervention from both Dean and Castiel, explaining to her that they still would have heard her call. 

“I’m glad to hear it,” Castiel signs, smiling.

“How is Dean doing?”

His small dims a little. “He’s better. I was able to talk him into lunch at the diner yesterday.” 

But Dean had been anxious the whole time they were there. Even sitting at a table in the back corner so no one could walk up behind him, and waiting to eat until the biggest lunch rush was over. His eyes had still darted toward every small noise, and he’d rushed through his meal instead of savoring it slowly like he usually does. He’d even taken the fresh pie Ellen offered him in a to go box when he’d reached the end of his ability to deal with being outside of his safe spaces.

They’ve talked about his medication, but Dean has been reluctant to take it on work days because it makes him drowsy. And Castiel understands the caution when Dean works around power tools and machinery all day. 

“Give him time,” Eileen signs gently, her eyes sympathetic. “He’ll come out of it again. He always does.”

“So he says.” He chuckles. “I think I am more comforted by your assurances than his though.” He slaps his hands against his thighs and pushes to his feet. “Anyway, now that you’re back, I’m going to head home. Unless you need anything?”

Apparently she only needs a hug, which he gives willingly. He also presses a kiss against her crown before saying his goodbyes and slipping out of the house after declining her offer for a ride.

Outside it’s chilly enough that he pulls his hoodie up closer around his neck, and tucks his hands in the pockets to protect them from the wind. Autumn in Purgatory is much different from what he’s used to. It’s only mid-November and he only needs a long sleeved shirt most of the time. Dean layers up before going out to the garage, giving Castiel sidelong looks. He grins at the memory of teasing Dean about it. His boyfriend would probably never survive a Boston winter if he’s complaining about the cool weather in Purgatory.

Not that he thinks he can talk Dean into visiting Boston any time soon. Dean had held himself together, not giving any signs of distress while they were in the hospital in Crossroads, but once they’d gotten home, Dean had difficulty leaving the house for a few days because of his anxiety. The only exception was visiting Sam’s house, which seems to be a safe space for him. But Castiel had taken over grocery shopping that first week, simply because Dean couldn’t bring himself to go any further than the garage on days he wasn’t spending with Sam. And then only for work. He’d needed to delegate all customer interaction with Jo, because he couldn’t handle being around too many people.

He’s a little disappointed that Dean may not ever be able to visit Boston with him. He really wants him to meet his family and friends. But he understands Dean’s fears aren’t rational, and take some intensive therapy to work through. He appreciates that Dean has made positive noises about taking those steps, and he can be patient about it while their relationship is new. It just means that if his mother insists on meeting the man who’s caught Castiel’s fancy, then she’ll need to come visit Purgatory. She’s always said she’d like to travel more, so this will be a good opportunity for her.

His thoughts are interrupted by the ring of his cell phone. The sound startles him because it hardly ever rings. He mostly carries it in case someone at the Sheriff’s office needs him in his off hours, but so far Jody has never used his number. He pulls it out of his pocket, expecting to see Jody’s name on the screen, but is surprised to see that it’s his mother instead. She generally calls him on Dean’s landline because she’s old fashioned, and doesn’t like mobile phones.

He answers, smiling with anticipation for a chance to talk to her. “Hey, mom. I was just thinking about you.”

“Castiel, thank goodness you answered. I tried you at the house first, but I only got the machine.”

His smile fades when he hears how strained her voice is. This clearly isn’t a pleasure call. “What’s wrong?”

“You need to come home. It’s your father--” she breaks off with a choked sound that makes his heart pound with a sudden spike of fear. Her voice is wobbly when she speaks again. “He’s had a stroke. He’s in the hospital.”

Castiel’s feet glue themselves to the sidewalk. His dad is sick? He can’t remember a time during his entire life that he’s seen his dad sick. It gave the illusion that the man was immortal. “Okay,” he huffs, running fingers through his hair. He thinks distantly that it’s getting long, and he should probably get it cut before he sees his dad, or he’ll get scolded for it. “I’ll be home as soon as I can.”

His mother ends the call with a promise to send him more information as it becomes available. When he hangs up, he stares down at the phone’s screen blinking the call time at him. Three minutes and thirty two seconds. Such a short conversation for such a huge piece of news. Locking the screen and shoving the phone in his pocket, Castiel starts walking again.

After a few steps, he breaks into a run.

Dean is under a car, probably changing the oil, when Castiel skids to a halt just inside the garage. He doesn’t have it up on rails, so he has to slide out from under the car when Castiel calls his name.

His eyes are bright with a welcoming smile, but that fades when he gets a good look at Castiel’s face. “What’s wrong, Cas?” he demands.

“I need to go back to Boston.” Castiel is breathless from running, and he has to pause to suck in several lungfuls of air. By the time he’s ready to speak again, Dean is on his feet and standing in front of him, brow lowered in worry, and his hands come up to grip Castiel’s shoulders, grounding him. “It’s my dad. He’s in the hospital, and--” he breaks off again, and pushes his face against Dean’s chest, seeking comfort. “Dean, I need to go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I was reading through the next few chapters of Feels Like Home to plan out the upcoming adaptations, I came across one of my author's notes talking about how I'm kind of a beast about cliffhangers and... yeah still true 7 years later lol
> 
> I'm actually a couple chapters ahead, which I normally am not because I'm a pantser. And it's making me SUPER PARANOID that I'm going to post the wrong next chapter lol


	25. Chapter 25

“I need to go back to Boston.”

Inside his chest, Dean’s heart stops. And then it kicks into overdrive, and the sudden rush of adrenaline to his system makes his vision sharpen even as his hearing is temporarily overtaken by static. It takes a lifetime for it to clear so he can hear the rest of what Castiel is saying.

“...in the hospital, and--” Castiel sucks in a sharp breath and buries his face against Dean’s chest. “Dean, I need to go.”

Dean wraps his arms around Castiel’s shoulders, offering comfort while taking some for himself. It sinks in that Castiel isn’t leaving because he doesn’t want to be here anymore, but because his family needs him. Relief floods him, followed closely by guilt for feeling anything positive about Castiel’s dad being sick. Ignoring the conflicting emotions, he puts all his focus on Castiel. He needs Dean right now.

“What can I do to help?” he asks, as he rubs his palms soothingly over Castiel’s back. 

Castiel straightens, staring up at Dean with wide watery eyes. “I need to leave today. I can get there on my bike in a couple of days--”

“No, Cas, don’t do that,” Dean interrupts. He doesn’t know what’s wrong with Castiel’s dad, but if he’s this freaked out about it, it’s something urgent. A couple days is too long. “There’s an airport a few hours north of here. I can give you a ride, and you can be in Boston by tomorrow.”

His skin tightens, and his fingertips tingle at the idea of driving that far from home, but he ignores the symptoms. He’s been dealing with them since Sam’s accident, and he’s getting pretty good at pushing through it and acting like a functional human. It’s not exactly the exposure therapy that Pam keeps suggesting, but it feels like progress anyway. And he’s not going to throw it out the window right now when Cas needs him to hold his shit together.

Castiel sags with relief, and leans back in for another tight hug. “Thank you.”

It doesn’t feel right to let him go, but they need to haul ass. “Just give me twenty minutes to finish up this oil change, and then I’ll be ready to go.”

Castiel nods curtly. “I’ll go pack a few things.” His eyes bounce around as he thinks, probably making a mental list of what he’ll need. But then his gaze comes up to Dean’s, blue and laser focused. “Are you going to be alright driving me to the airport? It’s pretty far, and there’s bound to be crowds and traffic and--”

Dean shakes his head. “Don’t worry about me. Go get ready.”

But Castiel doesn’t let it go. “Maybe Jo, or--”

“I’ll be fine,” Dean says firmly. He will be because he has to. He’ll take his pills if he needs to. This is an emergency.

Castiel still doesn’t move, searching Dean’s face for truth. Dean smiles warmly and resists the urge to cup his greasy hands around Castiel’s face. In the midst of his worry about his father, Castiel still has space in his heart and mind for Dean. It’s no wonder Dean has fallen so deeply in love with him.

He hasn’t said it out loud yet. The time has never seemed quite right, although he honestly has no idea what the “right time” will actually feel like. The words press against the inside of his teeth, but he doesn’t let them free. Instead he says “Go get packed, Cas. I’ll be there in a minute.”

Finally Castiel nods and rushes into the house. Since Jo is working on something more involved, he hurries through the rest of the oil change, and then makes sure she has everything she needs to run the shop for the rest of the day.

“Are you sure you’re okay to take him that far?” Jo asks, worry clear in her eyes.

Dean sighs in exasperation. “I’m fine.”

He’ll keep saying it until everyone believes it. Including himself.

“How long has it been since you’ve gone that far from home?”

He doesn’t answer the question, because she already knows the answer. He hasn’t gone further than Crossroads since he came home after his discharge from the military. “You’re starting to sound like your mom, you know that?”

“Someone has to watch your back,” she retorts, while communicating her annoyance with a punch to his arm.

“I’ll take my meds, Jo.”

After a beat, she sighs. “Okay, but you call if you have any problems.”

Since that was the plan anyway, he agrees. He rushes out of the garage and into the house where he finds Castiel coming out of the bedroom with a packed duffle bag that he probably found in Dean’s closet. Even though he’s not taking his bike, he’s wearing his leather jacket over Dean’s hoodie, probably in preparation for the colder weather.

Dean pauses to admire him in it. Most of the time Castiel is kind of a nerdy dude, his wild hair giving him more of a distracted professor look, and he wears graphic Ts with comic book characters on them. But in the biker get-up he looks like a badass. The kind of guy your mama warns you about.

Shaking away his horny daze, Dean holds up his oily hands. “I just need to take care of this, and grab a few things before we go.”

Castiel murmurs his understanding, and heads toward the back door to get to the truck. Dean rushes through getting cleaned up, not bothering with more than one wash. His hands look grimy, but he’s not going to be smearing oil all over everything. He grabs his prescription bottle from the medicine cabinet and shoves it in his pocket as he follows Castiel outside. 

He won’t take a pill unless he absolutely needs it. One of the warnings is that it causes drowsiness, and that side effect always hits him like a grand piano dropped on his head.

Outside, Castiel is leaning against the side of the truck, waiting for him. Dean climbs straight into the driver’s side without pause. “Have you called ahead about tickets?” he asks once Castiel is seated next to him.

“Already purchased. I’ll probably have to wait at the airport for about an hour once we get there.”

Dean nods as he backs the truck out. Castiel stays silent next to him, staring out the window as Dean drives. Dean throws him glances every now and then, but doesn’t say anything to break him out of his thoughts. The only question he has is _are you okay?_ but he knows the answer already, and he doesn’t want to pester Castiel to talk if he’s not in the mood to.

Eventually Castiel breaks the silence on his own, speaking just loud enough to be heard over the music Dean had put on to keep his mind occupied. “We’re not very close,” he says dully. “My dad and I.”

Dean casts a glance at him, but Castiel is still facing away, staring out the window. Castiel hasn’t really talked about his parents much, and now Dean wonders if it’s because they’re estranged. “How come?

One shoulder lifts in a listless shrug. “I could never quite meet his expectations,” Castiel answers in that same emotionless voice. “My grades could be perfect, but if I wasn’t doing four different extracurriculars, then I was being lazy. When I went to college, he was disappointed I didn’t go for something Ivy League.” He snorts bitterly, and it’s almost a relief to see him show a little bit of life again. “He was excited when I went to the Police Academy, but then he gave me hell for not being one of the top graduates. Nothing was ever good enough.”

He finally looks at Dean, his eyes so dull they barely seem to hold any color. His lips twist up, but it can hardly be called a smile. “He liked Hannah though. Because I was ‘settling down with a good young woman’ and ‘soon I’d understand how hard it is to have children’.”

Dean isn’t sure how he’s supposed to feel about that statement, even punctuated with the air quotes that always make him want to hug Castiel for being such a dork. Does he mean that his dad won’t approve of _their_ relationship?

As if reading his mind, Castiel reaches over and puts a hand on Dean’s thigh, and some of the warmth comes back to his eyes. “I stopped letting his opinion of me dictate my actions more than a decade ago.” He laughs softly, and it’s full of enough mischief that something unclenches in Dean’s chest. “There’s a rebellious part of me that can’t wait to introduce you to him.”

“You think he’d disapprove of me?” Dean asks cautiously. 

Castiel’s fingers tighten on Dean’s thigh. “No, I don’t think that,” he explains. “He’ll probably respect you very much. You’re a good man, you run your own business, and you served your country. He would even shake your hand if it wasn’t perfectly clean.” He chuckles, glancing at Dean’s hands which still have grease embedded in the creases of his skin. 

“So do you think he’d have a problem with…?” Dean gestures between them. “Cuz y’know, I’m a guy?”

Castiel tips his head from side to side, and shrugs a little. “I don’t think so.” There’s genuine amusement in the look Castiel gives him. “He certainly didn’t seem to have a problem with my college boyfriend, other than being worried that a relationship would distract me from my studies.” He sighs, and some of the humor slides away. “He’ll probably be more upset that I’m not passing on the family name.”

Dean shakes his head at the old-fashioned concept. “Is that all you are to him? A family breeding machine?”

Castiel’s laugh is short and bitter. “I don’t know, maybe. The joke’s on him though, since Hannah and I were married for six years and never had children.”

“Did you want children?” Dean asks.

“It seemed like something I’d do eventually more than something I wanted,” Castiel says. “Hannah definitely did, so I always assumed I’d be a father. But we kept putting it off and…” He shrugs. “I guess that turned out for the best that we didn’t since Hannah and I are no longer together.”

“Maybe you would still be together if you had kids,” Dean suggests. The words feel strange in his mouth, suggesting Castiel might still be happily married, when he’s so goddamn grateful to have him in his own life. 

“There was more wrong with our marriage than a lack of children,” Castiel says with a firm headshake. “Maybe we would stay together for the kids, but honestly, I don’t know. And I don’t think I’d want us to be tied together that way. It wouldn’t be fair to the innocent members of our family.”

They fall silent for a few minutes. Dean doesn’t know what Castiel is thinking about, but he can’t stop thinking about the possibility of never meeting Cas if just a few things had turned out differently in their lives. 

His life before Castiel wasn’t bad. He has friends, and he has his business. And his cat. Sex is fun, but he’s capable of taking care of his own needs. He’d been content, even happy most of the time. But since Castiel rolled into town… everything is better, even the good things. There’s something special about sharing his daily life with Cas. An intimacy he doesn’t share with anyone else, that it turns out he’d needed without being conscious of it. 

It probably makes him a selfish prick, but he’s really glad Hannah left Castiel. Her loss, Dean’s win.

“Do you want kids?” he asks suddenly.

Castiel starts at the interruption of his own deep thoughts. “Well… yes.”

“What about adoption?”

“I’m open to it. Hannah and I even discussed it a few times, but nothing ever came of it.”

 _Maybe because things were already going wrong between you._ He doesn’t voice that thought out loud. He doesn’t know Hannah, and he’s trying very hard not to dislike her on principle. Even though he totally does.

And that’s not why he’d asked the question. “What about the future?” he asks carefully. “I kinda want kids someday, but…”

“But you don’t like women?” Castiel asks with a tiny smirk.

“I like women sometimes,” Dean reminds him. “But I’m with you, and I don’t see that ending any time soon.”

 _Say the words,_ he tells himself. _Make sure he understands why._

But the words don’t come. Now isn’t the time.

He chances a glance at Castiel and finds him smiling warmly. “What?”

“Nothing, just…” Castiel squeezes his thigh again. “I’m glad my bike broke down.”

The sappy confession is nearly as good as the three little words Dean can’t bring himself to utter yet. He places his hand over Castiel’s, lacing their fingers together. “Me too, Cas.”

Castiel’s slow, shy smile makes Dean’s heart bounce around in his chest like an eager puppy. Fuck, he’s so in love.

The rest of the ride is mostly quiet, although they occasionally speak of less weighty topics for the last hour of the trip. A low buzz of anxiety starts creeping in around the edges of Dean’s mind as they get further from home, but for the most part he’s able to breathe through it. Castiel seems to know when he needs a distraction, and strikes up meaningless conversations until Dean stops white-knuckling the steering wheel each time. Overall though, he’s doing much better than he thought he would.

When they finally reach the airport, Dean takes one look at the crowds of people in the pick up and drop off zones and knows it will be impossible for him to go inside. It will be far too much.

“Just drop me off.” Castiel’s hand has been on his thigh for nearly the entire trip. A warm weight that has kept Dean from rattling out of his skin, reminding him to breathe with a gentle squeeze every now and then. He rubs the muscle firmly, and Dean sinks back into himself with a tiny gasp. “You’ve done enough just getting me here, Dean.”

Still, he has to ask. “Are you sure, Cas?”

Castiel nods. “You can’t go past the security gates anyway. We can just say goodbye at the curb.”

The anxiety roars back up in Dean’s throat. He doesn’t _want_ to say goodbye to Castiel. The very idea of it sets off claxons in his head. His fingers clench so tightly over the steering wheel that the friction against his skin causes a tiny squeaking noise.

Which Castiel notices, of course. “Dean… are you okay?”

Forcing his fingers to relax, one digit at a time, Dean nods and attempts a reassuring smile. He doubts he’s successful at it when he gets a look at Castiel’s eyes, wide and soulful and worried. “I just realized how much I’m going to miss you is all,” he says as he pulls into an empty space next to the curb.

As soon as they’re stopped, Castiel releases his seatbelt and leans across to pull Dean into a hug. The angle is awkward, and Dean’s own seat belt digs into his ribs uncomfortably, but he puts his face against Castiel’s neck and breathes him in. It goes a helluva long way to make him feel better, even if he still feels like complete shit.

“I’m going to miss you too,” Castiel says against his ear. “But I’ll come back.”

Dean nods, not trusting himself to speak. He loops his arms around Castiel’s waist, returning the hug. “You’ll call me when you get there? I need to know you made it safe.”

“Of course.” Castiel presses a kiss against his temple, and they hold each other for another long moment. When he finally pulls back, Dean lets him go with extreme reluctance. Castiel smiles gently and runs his knuckles over Dean’s cheek before he reaches for the door handle.

Dean sets the emergency brake and gets out of the truck as well. He rushes around the back of the truck, just as Castiel pulls his bag out of the truck bed and steps up onto the curb. Dean pulls him around and crushes their mouths together. Soft lips open under his, and he sweeps his tongue past them, moaning quietly as the familiar taste of his lover.

When he lifts his head, Castiel stares up at him in a daze. Dean grins, and this time it feels like he means it. “Something to keep you warm at night while you’re gone,” he teases.

Castiel blinks a few times, and then he grins as well. “There’s always phone calls. I’m sure we can find a way to make them interesting…”

Dean laughs and kisses him again. This time just a simple peck, but it still feels intimate and profound. “I suddenly see a bright side to this trip.”

But then he’s releasing Castiel, and after one last wave, watching him walk away.

* * *

When the pilot announces that cell phones can be powered on, Castiel resists the urge to call Dean. It’s too early in the morning because his connecting flight was a redeye. Exhaustion pulls at him more heavily than the strap of his duffle as he slings it over his shoulder and shuffles down the plane’s center aisle.

But as he makes his way through the airport, the urge to hear Dean’s voice becomes too strong to resist and he pulls his phone out anyway. 

“Heya, Cas.” Dean’s voice is rough with sleep when he answers, and Castiel feels something unclench in his chest at the familiar sound. “You’re in Boston?”

“Yes, I’m walking out of the airport right now.” A gust of chilled air as the automatic doors slide open ahead of him sends a shiver through his frame. One summer in the desert will not make him forget how cold it can get in New England, but that doesn’t mean he enjoys the icy wind trying to work its way into the collar of his jacket. “I’m sorry for calling so early, but--”

“But I asked you to as soon as you got there. Nothin’ to be sorry for, sweetheart.”

Castiel smiles down at the ground under his feet as he makes his way to the taxi pick up area. “Well… at least it sounds like you got more sleep than I did.”

There’s a soft grunt of disagreement. “Little bit… was a rough night though. The drive home wasn’t great, and I didn’t sleep very well without you.” 

Guilt stabs sharply through Castiel’s chest. He should have tried harder to talk Dean out of driving him to the city, but he’d wanted to spend as much time with him as possible before he got on the plane. It made arguing against Dean’s insistence difficult. “I’m sorry, I should have asked someone else-”

“No, Cas,” Dean interrupts softly. “I wanted to be with you.”

Castiel pauses on the sidewalk where taxis are lined up waiting for passengers. He closes his eyes briefly, picturing Dean as he is in the mornings. He’d let his hair grow out a little as the weather cooled, and it would be flopping over his forehead, its normal spikes held down by the extra weight. His cheeks would be creased from his pillow, and his green eyes would be half lidded while a lazy smile plays about his lips. His body would be sleep warm, sprawled out in the blankets they normally share.

He wants to be there with Dean right now, instead of standing out in the cold in a city far away. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too,” Dean says softly.

They’re both silent for a long moment, just breathing together over the airwaves. The magic of digital technology makes it sound like Dean is right next to him, rather than lying in their bed two thousand miles away. 

A call from one of the airport employees breaks the moment, and Castiel takes a deep breath. “I should go. I’ll call you again after I see my dad.”

After they say their goodbyes and he reluctantly ends the call, he chooses a taxi and then calls his mother. She’s at the hospital with his father, and because of the way her voice wavers he decides to go straight there rather than stopping to refresh himself at his condo. The ride doesn’t seem to take very long despite the fact that it takes him through half the city. He watches familiar landmarks as they pass outside the window, and wishes Dean were here with him. 

He’s lost count of how many times he’s wished he’d asked Dean to come with him.

But he’d seen Dean tucking a bottle of prescription pills into his pocket as he came out of the house. Dean’s anxiety had been thick in the air for most of the drive to the airport, and he’d felt the tremor in his muscles when they held each other on the curb before saying goodbye. It had taken a lot for Dean to make that drive. As far as Castiel knows, it’s the farthest from home Dean has been since he moved back to Purgatory after his discharge from the military, and he’s incredibly proud of Dean for doing it. It’s a sign that Dean is doing better, _trying_ to push his boundaries instead of just hiding in the comfort of his small hometown. 

Asking him to travel across the country, to a city he’s never been to before, might have been too much, too fast, though. So Castiel hadn’t asked, as much as he’d wanted to.

To keep himself awake, he takes note of all the places he’d point out to Dean if he were ever to make the trip to Boston. It’s also a good distraction from thoughts of his father. 

He hadn’t been exaggerating when he told Dean about his strained relationship with his father, but he still loves the old man. Castiel pushed himself hard to please Michael Milton, and even now he craves every scrap of approval he can earn from him. 

Guilt for running away assaults him as the hospital comes into sight. He hadn’t even said goodbye when he left. What if the last time he’d seen his father was when Castiel had been in the hospital, shaking and sick from withdrawal? The thought makes him nauseous.

At the hospital he finds his father’s room quickly with the directions of a friendly receptionist. He stops in the doorway, taking in the scene. His father lies unnaturally still in the bed, looking pale and fragile under the harsh white light of the fluorescents. The IVs in his arms, and the oxygen tube in his nose complete the picture of a very ill man. But Castiel still feels a tingle of relief that he’s not on life support.

His mother Anna sits in the chair next to the bed, one of her hands resting over her husband’s. The other is tangled in the ends of her long red hair, tugging and combing through the strands like she always does when she’s upset. She stares into the middle distance, her brow and cheeks marred with worry lines. There are more lines around her eyes and gray in her hair than he remembers, and he wonders how much of that is because of his own disappearance, and how much is just normal for a woman of her age.

“Hey, mom,” he says softly, bringing her hazel-green eyes up to his.

“Castiel,” she exclaims softly as she rises from her chair. She opens her arms to him, and he automatically pulls her into a hug.

The top of her head barely reaches his chin, and she feels small in his arms. She hasn’t been taller than him since his mid-teens, but her hugs still make him feel protected and safe. He squeezes her probably a little too tightly, but he’s missed her very much. Phone calls a few times a week are not a substitute for dinners and shopping trips. Hannah had teased him about being a mama’s boy, and Castiel can admit at least to himself that she’s probably right. He’s much closer to his mother than he is to his father, anyway.

“I’ve missed you,” Anna says as she pulls back and looks up at him. Tears glitter in her eyes, but she’s smiling warmly. “Thank you for coming home.”

He almost points out that Purgatory is his home now, but it isn’t important at the moment. “How’s dad?”

She directs a worried look at her husband. “He’s stable,” she answers. “But it will take some time before they know how bad the damage is.” She pulls away from Castiel and sits in the chair next to the bed again, lifting Michael’s limp hand in her own as she speaks. “They’re observing him right now to make sure he doesn’t have another stroke.”

Castiel steps closer to the bed. Looking down at his father, he tries to see the healthy, robust man from his memories instead of the weakened man in the bed. The sallow skin, and the extra gray salting his dark hair make the effort almost impossible. “Do they think that’s a possibility?”

“It’s a precaution they always take,” Anna replies.

That makes him feel marginally better. There’s another chair in the room, and he pulls it close so he can sit next to Anna.

They speak quietly, mostly about his father’s diagnoses and what the doctors have planned for his treatments. Eventually talk turns to who is taking care of the business while Michael and Anna are away. It’s hers, inherited from her family, but they run the company together since Michael retired from the police force. It’s not a large company, and they do have some people who can take care of things for a short time if needed, but someone will need to step in to provide management sooner rather than later.

Castiel hesitates when his mother asks him if he’ll run things for a little while. Jody had given him a few weeks leave, despite the fact that he hasn’t been working for her very long. He’s trying to build a life there, and he doesn’t want to commit to anything in Boston that will take him away from that. He hedges around an answer, saying he’ll keep an eye on things for a few days without making any solid promises.

Anna doesn’t seem very pleased with that, but she accepts his offer for now. He tries to ignore the tingle of unease he feels over the conversation. She keeps glossing over his mentions of Purgatory, and he allows her to steer the conversation away from it for now, but mostly because there are other important things going on at the moment and they can only be handled one at a time.

Maybe he’s being paranoid because he’s tired. He’s been stifling yawns almost from the moment he arrived, and he’s starting to get that heavy-limbed sensation that always comes with lack of sleep.

When he tries to hide another one, Anna gives him a soft smile. “Maybe you should go home and get some rest. You look like you need it.”

He shakes his head. “I want to talk to him if he wakes up.”

“I don’t want you to sacrifice your health and end up in the room next door,” she says firmly. “You’re exhausted. Go get some rest, and come back when you look a little more human.”

He smiles wryly. If he looks as bad as he feels right now, he can understand why she’s pulling out the Mom Voice. “Alright. But call me if anything changes?”

She promises him she will, and he kisses her on the forehead before leaving. Just outside the door he collides with someone. He pulls back to apologize, but the words freeze in his throat when he recognizes who it is. “Hannah? What are you doing here?”

Big blue eyes blink up at him in surprise. “Castiel, hi.” 

Her voice sends a jolt through his stomach. It’s been so long since they’ve spoken.

“I didn’t know you were here.” Her eyes drop away from his, not quite settling on anything. “I just came to see if your mother needs anything.”

“I just got into town.” He shifts his weight uncomfortably. A familiar ache blooms in his chest, and his skin begins to itch. “I’m just going to get some sleep and some food.”

She finally looks back at him, her expression guarded. “You’ve been away?”

Apparently no one thought to tell her about his trip.

“Uh, yeah.” He rubs the back of his neck, where the itch seems most concentrated. This is a conversation he really doesn’t want to have right now. He doesn’t want to talk to her at all, really. “I’ve been away for months.”

“Oh,” she says.

The word hangs between them. He can tell she’s curious, but seeing her here like this, now of all times, makes him angry. They are divorced. He is under no obligation to talk to her about his life. “Anyway.” His tone is a little too sharp. “I’ll be back this afternoon.”

Hopefully she won’t be. He doesn’t wait for a response, slipping past her and hurrying down the hall to avoid hearing her if she tries to call him back.

It’s not running. It’s a tactical retreat.

Another taxi takes him to his condo. It takes the whole length of the ride before the craving that hit him as soon as he started talking to Hannah to fade.

When he lets himself inside the home he hasn’t visited in more than half a year, the air is stale. It feels bare and cold when he compares it with his memories of Dean’s house. There are paintings on the wall, pieces that he’d purchased specifically for their bright, cheery colors. But it isn’t quite the same as walls covered in band tour and movie posters, and shelves displaying pictures of friends and family. Even the furniture seems too small in the space. Except for his neatly made bed, which seems too big.

Too empty.

Sighing, he drops his bag just inside the bedroom door. He needs a shaower, but now that he doesn’t have adrenaline keeping him awake, all he wants is to lie down.

He strips down naked, and grabs his phone out of his jeans pocket before sliding under the comforter on the bed. The comfort of the mattress overrides the stale scent of the bedding. Lying on his side, he watches the screen of his phone while it rings.

“Heya, Cas.” Dean sounds much more awake now, and the warmth in his voice makes Castiel relax further into the pillows. “How’s your dad?”

“He’s still in observation.” Castiel sets the phone on speaker and puts it on the pillow in front of his face. “We’ll find out more in the next few days.”

“What about you?” Dean asks quietly. “How’re you holding up?”

Castiel runs a hand over his face, and massages the bridge of his nose with his fingertips. “Tired,” he answers. “And worried.”

“You have reason to be.”

“It’s not just my dad,” Castiel says. “It’s my mom.”

He goes on to explain about the company and how he suspects his mother might want him to stick around for a while and run things until his father recovers. “The thing is, I don’t mind helping out a little bit. But I’m worried she’ll use it as leverage to keep me here.”

There’s a loud silence on the line. Then “Cas, if they need you--”

“I’m not staying here,” Castiel cuts in firmly. He doesn’t want Dean to even consider it as an option, because he’s not considering it for himself. “No more than a few weeks anyway.”

Dean’s relieved sigh hisses softly over the airwaves. “Okay… that’s uh, that’s good to hear.”

Castiel smiles and touches the screen of his phone. It had gone dark to save power, no longer showing the picture he’d snapped of Dean cuddling Lore up to his face. “As tired as I am, I think it’s going to be tough sleeping. I’ve gotten used to your bed. This one is too big.”

“You’re in bed?” Dean’s tone is laced with interest. “Does that mean you’re naked?”

Castiel chuckles. “Yes, I am.”

“Really?” Dean drawls, and it feels like fingers dragging up Castiel’s spine.

“What about you?” Castiel asks. “Are you dressed yet?”

“I’m wearing pants, but I can fix that.”

Suddenly Castiel isn’t very tired at all. “Yeah, you should do that.”

There’s a rustling sound, and Castiel closes his eyes to picture Dean scrambling out of his clothes. On the canvas of his imagination he can see all that bare skin, marked by ink and scars, and his fingers curl with the need to touch it. He does the next best thing and runs his hands over his own skin, imaging Dean’s callused and work-stained fingers in their place.

“Back.”

Castiel grins, eyes still closed. “Naked?”

“Oh yeah. What are you doing?”

Castiel slides his hand down over his abdomen until his fingers dip into the curly hair around his groin. “What do you want me to do?”

Dean makes a small noise of want and frustration, and it’s so familiar that Castiel’s body responds with a rush of heat. “I want you to come home and let me ride your cock.”

A laugh bubbles up in Castiel’s throat. He presses the heel of his hand against the base of his dick and rubs upward. “Well you’ll have to settle for listening to me jack off for now.”

“Is that what you’re doing?”

Castiel changes his grip so that he can more comfortably stroke himself. “Oh yeah.”

They speak, words hushed and rumbling with desire as they paint pictures of what they’re doing, and what they wish they could be doing to each other. Castiel misses Dean’s touch, but the intimacy of talking each other through their fantasies has a unique pleasure of its own. Soon he’s rocking his hips, pumping into his fist, coming over his stomach while he listens to Dean’s breath go ragged as he does the same.

They listen to each other breathing for a long time.

When Castiel catches himself long-blinking, he stretches against the sheets and rolls out of bed to get a towel. He takes the phone with him into the bathroom. “I need to get some sleep,” he says reluctantly. “Can I call you later?”

“You know you can call me at any time,” Dean says softly. “Sleep well, Cas.”

“Thanks,” Castiel replies just as quietly. _I love you._ It’s on the tip of his tongue. But he doesn’t want to say it over the phone when there’s most of a continent between them. “Goodbye,” is all he says instead.

After he hangs up and settles back into the bed, he’s asleep within minutes. In his dreams, he’s not alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo.... remember when I wondered if this fic would end up shorter than the original because I was cutting stuff out?
> 
> Yeah, so FLH is 112k, and this chapter puts MitW at 113k, and there's like.... 3 or 4 chapters left. What I'm learning from this experience is that my longficitis gets worse every year lol XD


	26. Chapter 26

The quiet that Dean values so much is beginning to drive him crazy. 

It’s only been about a week since Castiel had flown back to Boston, and his absence leaves the house too silent. Too empty. 

Lore, sensing that he’s on edge, follows at his heels whenever he moves around the house. And he’s pretty sure she misses Cas too, if the obnoxious caterwauling is any sign. She’s started parking her butt in the middle of the living room, yowling and watching him expectantly. But if he tries to approach her, she’ll flit just out of reach. At night she’ll curl up on his chest and let him pet her, but when he wakes in the morning he always finds her sleeping on Castiel’s pillow.

Dean can’t blame her. He misses Castiel’s scent too.

The loneliness isn’t so bad when he’s working, with the radio blasting and Jo clattering around on her favorite side of the garage. He also makes time for daily visits with Sam and Eileen, and his brother doesn’t even complain about his hovering anymore. When he thinks Dean isn’t looking he watches Dean with sad, worried moose eyes. Usually that would irritate the fuck out of Dean, because he’s not the one who needs help bathing right now, but instead all he feels is longing for his damn boyfriend and gratitude that Sam is allowing the mother henning that eases Dean’s anxiety.

He’s also spent a lot of his free time working on his Impala, and she’s nearly done. She’s actually road ready now, just waiting for the paint job that he’s putting off until his hands stop randomly trembling. He hasn’t taken her out for a drive yet. It doesn’t feel right with an empty passenger seat. And the only people he wants to share that first experience with are either crippled and unable to bend his sasquatch frame into the front of the car, or on the other side of the damn country. So she stays parked, and Dean tries not to see that as some kind of metaphor for his life.

As he sits in the driver’s seat and gazes at the fully restored dash, the gleaming leather upholstery, and the fully carpeted floors, he sighs and wishes he had something to rewire to keep his hands busy.

His thoughts are interrupted when Jo bends down to look at him through the passenger window. She knocks on the glass, and gives him a bratty smile when he glances up at her.

“We still meeting Sam at the diner for lunch?” she calls loud enough to be heard through the glass.

Dean pushes the driver side door open, and wishes he hadn’t WD40’d the squeak out of its hinge. “Yeah, we’re going,” he says as he gets out of the car and gently shuts the door. “You ready?”

She holds up her hands and wiggles her fingers to show that she’s already scrubbed the grease away. “Yup!”

He’s not really hungry, but if anyone finds out he’s skipping meals, he’s suddenly going to have people checking in on him constantly. And Sam will be an especially smug fucker about it. There’s no way he won’t take a chance at revenge for all of Dean’s helicoptering since his accident.

Even though he’d washed them before getting into his baby’s spotless interior, he scrubs up again before following Jo across the street to the diner. Ash calls out a friendly greeting when he sees them, which makes Ellen and Benny poke their heads out to say hello too. 

Sam waves from a table he’s sharing with Eileen in the corner, and Dean follows Jo over to join them. It’s not the first time Sam has left his house, but Dean still checks him over looking for signs of pain or discomfort. Seeing that there’s no pinching around his mouth from pain, or glaze in his eyes from medication eases some of Dean’s anxiety. 

“Heya, Sammy,” he says as he collapses into the chair next to his brother. “How’re you feeling?”

“Better every day, so you can stop asking,” Sam snipes back, but he’s smiling and there’s no censure in his tone. “How are _you_ feeling?”

Dean slants him an unimpressed look. “Fine.”

Sam very clearly doesn’t believe him, but he lets it go with a soft hum of acknowledgement.

Jo doesn’t though. “He’s still being a mopey baby.”

He gives her his most impressive bitch-face (Sam is an amateur and can suck it), but Ellen comes over to deliver the lunches that Sam already ordered for them before he can think of a comeback. Dean plays nice until she seems satisfied that he’s not in need of more babying, but as soon as she’s gone he resumes roasting the side of Jo’s face with his glare.

“Don’t give me that poopy-diaper face,” she says around a mouth full of fries. “I’m right.”

“Close your mouth when you eat, you gremlin,” he says before shoving a couple fries in his own mouth and chewing obnoxiously.

“Hypocrite,” Sam murmurs low enough that Dean could pretend to ignore him if he hadn’t also signed it for Eileen’s benefit.

Dean doesn’t spare either of them his unimpressed glare, although Eileen’s soft giggle does soften him. 

They all give him a few minutes of blessed nag-free eating time as they all tuck in, but of course the peace doesn’t last. Sam is only half way through his haytack-sized dressing-free boring-as-fuck salad when he sets his fork down and wipes his mouth with a napkin. “So, any news yet on when Cas is coming back?”

Dean sighs, and gives his burger a regretful look before setting it down on his plate. It had actually tasted really good, juicy and spiced just right, but at the mention of Cas all the flavor disappeared and he might as well be eating Sam’s salad. He washes his last bite down with a watery tasting Coke, and leans back in his chair. “Am I that obvious?” he asks.

“You do look a bit like a lost puppy,” Eileen answers around her milkshake straw.

He isn’t going to admit to her, or anyone else at the table, that sometimes that’s exactly what he feels like. Shrugging one shoulder, he drags a fry through the ketchup on his plate. “The Impala’s almost done, so I’m feeling a bit at loose ends.”

“You can just say you miss Cas,” Sam says. “We all miss him too, you know.”

Eileen and Jo nod their agreement, and for once the fact that they’re all ganging up on him is more comforting than it is annoying. He’s still not in the mood to eat anymore though, so he tosses his now soggy fry onto the plate and dusts the salt grains from his hands. “Yeah, I do miss him.”

Jo gives him a warm smile. “I mean, I know it’s harder on you... I didn’t see him as much as you did.” A sparkle of mischief glints in her eyes. “Or as much _of_ him.”

Dean snorts a laugh, and a little more pressure eases from his chest. “You’re totally missing out. He’s got a lot worth seeing.”

She sighs dramatically. “I’ll bet. Too bad he set his eyes on you. Maybe if he saw me first…”

Dean raises an eyebrow, and wonders how serious she is. Cas had mentioned that she seemed jealous a few times, but he knows Jo doesn’t look at him that way. At least not since that time she tried kissing him when she was 14 and grossed them both out. But maybe there’s some jealousy there after all… just not over _him._ “Sorry, Joanna Beth but I’ve got dibs. You’ll fight your Mister Right, though.”

“If I haven’t found him in Purgatory yet, I’m not going to,” she says dryly. “And it’s not like sexy drifters decide to stick around all that often. You got lucky.”

He really did. There are plenty of tourists in the summer, but no one stays for long. Everyone in Purgatory has had at least one fling with a vacationing rock climber, and Jo’s no exception. He’s admired her choices of partners many times over the years, because she’s got damn good taste in men. But he suspects that just like him, and everyone else who’s dallied with an out-of-towner, she’s probably tired of the revolving door to her bedroom and would much rather find someone to settle down with.

“Have you thought about looking for a girlfriend instead?” He teases.

Instead of scoffing and throwing a ketchup drenched fry at him like he expects, she appears to give the question actual thought. “Yeah, sometimes,” she says, as if she’s not dropping a bombshell on the table. “But it doesn’t change the fact that I live in a small town, and the only women I’d be interested in are either taken, or not into women.”

She turns red up to the roots of her hair when Dean, Sam, and Eileen all stare at her with sagging jaws. “What?” she demands as she hunches down over her plate and fiddles with the pickle trying to escape her sandwich.

“Joanna Beth,” Dean scolds. “Are you telling me that you swing both ways?”

Her casual shrug is so forced that it looks like she’s trying to retract her head inside her body so they’ll all stop looking at her. “Yeah? Chicks are hot.”

He can’t stop the laugh bubbling up in his throat. He’s known Jo since she was a little scrapper in the elementary playground, and somehow this side of her has remained hidden all along. “I can’t believe I never knew this about you.”

“You never asked!”

“I’m your gay best friend!” he argues. “I shouldn’t have to ask!”

Eileen laughs outright, while Sam at least tries to hide his smile behind his soda. Jo casts a glare around the table. “Well I’m telling you now, okay?”

Softening, because he remembers how weird it felt to come out even when he was pretty sure the people in his life would accept him as he is, Dean slings an arm around her shoulder and pulls her into a one armed hug. “Well I’m glad you did,” he says gently. He holds her as long as she’ll put up with it, but releases her as soon as she twitches like she wants to be free. “Anyway, you’ll find someone eventually, Jo. Don’t give up hope.”

“Thanks.” She goes back to picking at her lunch, but there’s a tiny smile curving her lips.

Silence falls over the table again for a few minutes as they all give Jo time to acclimate to coming out of the closet. It’s Sam who decides to start up the conversation again. “Dean, have you thought about going to Boston to see Cas?”

He sighs. “Yeah.”

“So why don’t you?” Sam asks. His brow furrows with a concerned frown. “Or did he not want you to go?”

Castiel didn’t ask him. But when they have their nightly phone calls, Castiel is always painfully sincere when he tells Dean he misses him. And he talks about Boston like he’s trying to paint a picture for Dean, like he’s trying to sell the place to him. So no, Castiel isn’t withholding the invitation because he doesn’t want Dean there. It’s because he knows about Dean’s agoraphobia and PTSD, and he won’t ask for something that might send Dean’s mental health into a tailspin.

Dean shoots his brother a _you know why_ look. 

“If this is because of your thing about flying,” Sam replies, either missing the point, or trying to keep his secret in the worst way possible, “then take your meds and sleep through it.”

“You’re afraid of flying?” Jo asks. “But you’ve been on the other side of the planet. Did they let you take a rowboat?”

“Haha fuck you,” Dean replies. He shifts in his seat, uncomfortable with talking about the depths of his fears. It’s not just about flying, although he never had an easy time with it even before earning his PTSD stripes in the Middle East. “It’s complicated.”

Jo screws up her face in skepticism. “What’s so complicated? You pop a pill before you get on the plane, and you wake up just in time to get off the plane.”

Sighing, Dean looks over at Sam. They’ve had the ability to communicate without words for as long as he can remember, and right now, he sees exactly what his brother is telling him. Sam will back him if he wants to keep glossing over his problems, but he thinks it’s silly that Dean wants to keep something so inconsequential a secret. Dean thinks it’s a big fucking deal, but Sam has been trying to convince him otherwise every since he moved back home to Purgatory. 

Something shifts in his head, and he finally gets what Sam has been trying to tell him for years. It’s just… a hangup. Anyone who cares about him, won’t care about his specific flavor of crazy. And it’s not like no one has figured out the PTSD thing, even though he never made an official announcement. His friends aren’t stupid, but sometimes he is, and he should really stop acting like a dumbass and just man up.

“It’s not about flying,” Dean says, and he smiles a little when Sam’s eyebrows pop up in surprise. “I’ve got agoraphobia… it’s already hard leaving my comfort zone. Flying across the country to a place I’ve never been scares the hell out of me.”

“Huh,” Jo says thoughtfully, but without judgement. “So that’s why you won’t go to Crossroads for shopping trips anymore?” Her eyes widen with another realization. “Man, after you took Sam to the hospital… you practically disappeared for a few days.”

“Panic attacks,” Dean confirms. “I had a hard time leaving the house until they calmed down.”

“That sucks ass,” she commiserates.

Dean snorts a laugh. “Yup.”

The table lapses into silence, and everyone resumes eating their lunch. And nothing changes, even though he admitted to his secret. Yeah, he was being dumb about it, and he’s glad it’s out there in the open now. It actually feels like a relief that it’s no longer something he needs to skirt around. 

Eventually the conversation picks up, but everyone keeps it casual and easy. It’s nice sharing a meal with his family, even though Castiel’s absence makes his chest ache. 

God, he fucking misses Cas. Daily phone calls are not enough. He wants to share meals with him. Visit him at the sheriff’s office. Sit with his feet in Castiel’s lap while they watch movies.

Castiel’s dad is doing well, and will soon be out of the hospital and starting therapy to regain some of the motor skills the stroke took from him. That’s good news of course, but the last time they talked Castiel told him he’d probably be staying in Boston a few more weeks. He’s helping his mother with the family business until they finish training someone to take on the larger workload. His dad will eventually recover enough to go back to most of his duties, but his mom needs someone helping her in the meantime.

The news is dismaying, but Dean understands. He’d do the same in Castiel’s position.

Doesn’t mean he’s not bummed about Castiel being gone for the holidays. He’d been looking forward to Thanksgiving, but now he’s going to have to wait a whole year to celebrate it with Castiel for the first time. And Christmas? Hopefully Castiel will be able to come back to Purgatory by then, but that seems uncertain too.

He does his best to enjoy the rest of his lunch, but he barely has any appetite left. Only Sam seems to notice the way he moves food around on his plate to make it look like he’s eating, but he doesn’t say anything about it. At least not until after they’re all done, and Dean is helping him out to Eileen’s car. Sam has to sit in the back seat with his leg stretched out, and there’s barely enough room for him, but his house is too far to limp along in his crutches.

“God, I can’t wait to get this damn thing off my leg,” Sam grumbles as Dean helps him settle in the car. His tone turns wistful. “I miss my morning runs.”

“I’ll bet,” Dean teases. He pokes at Sam’s belly, grinning when his brother huffs and bats his hand away. “You’re getting a little flabby there, Lance.”

“That’s cycling,” Sam corrects waspishly, like he does every time Dean makes the same reference. 

“Sure, bud.” Dean gets his leg situated, and starts to back out of the car door, but Sam’s hand shoots out and snags his wrist. He turns a questioning gaze at his brother.

“If Cas wants you there, you should go.”

Dean sighs. “Sam--”

“Dean, you can do it.” Sam’s fingers tighten around his wrist. “You’re strong. I know you can do it. And you’ve got meds to help you through it if you need them.”

He’s right, and he’s only voicing things that Dean’s own brain has been reminding him of more and more loudly with each passing day. In fact he’s already called Pam for an impromptu therapy session, and she’s sent in a fresh prescription for him since his current one is expired because he wasn’t refilling it often enough. “Maybe,” he hedges.

“What if someone went with you?” Sam asks. “Y’know, for moral support.”

If Sam wasn’t crippled, Dean would already have asked him to go. “Maybe,” Dean repeats. “I’ll think about it, Sammy.”

It’s enough of an answer for Sam, who gives him an encouraging smile and squeezes his wrist one more time before releasing him. They say their goodbyes, and Dean walks with Jo back to the garage so they can get back to work.

The hours pass slowly until the end of the work day. When Dean finally closes the shop, it’s a huge relief. The work had done little to keep his mind off how much he misses Castiel.

After a shower and a meal of cold leftover spaghetti, Dean looks at the time on his phone. Castiel should be calling him soon. He hurries to his room and makes himself comfortable in bed, and the phone rings almost as soon as he’s settled against the pillows with Lore curled up against his side. The sense of being dragged down deep into the earth melts away, the picture of Castiel’s gummy smile on his caller ID buoying his mood immediately. He taps the answer icon, pushes the phone tight against his ear, and breathes out a relieved “Heya, Cas.”

“Hello, Dean.” Castiel’s graveled voice doesn’t have the same rich tones over the phone, but it still conveys a smile when he speaks. “How are you?”

“Better now,” Dean admits.

“Was something wrong?” 

Dean closes his eyes, picturing the little wrinkle that always appears on Castiel’s forehead when he’s worried. “I just miss you.” It’s an understatement, but he doesn’t want to burden Castiel with his own issues. Cas has enough on his plate.

“I miss you too,” Castiel sighs. He sounds tired. “I miss Purgatory. How is everyone?”

“Well you know how small town life is. Things are as boring as ever here. The biggest news is that Sam’s been able to leave the house, which is good for Eileen. She doesn’t have to deal with his giant moose ass climbing the walls anymore.”

Castiel’s chuckle makes Dean’s stomach do a happy little flip flop. “I’m happy for her.”

“Not for Sam?”

“I’m sure Sam’s just fine. Eileen’s the one who has to deal with him all the time.”

“That’s what I said!” Dean’s cheeks ache from grinning so hard. “So how are things on your end?”

Castiel’s sigh is long, and tinged with frustration. “I wasn’t prepared for how much work I’d be doing when I came up here,” he says wearily. “I wish I hadn’t let my mother rope me into helping with the business.”

“Is it that bad?”

“Not the work itself.” There’s an edge of annoyance to his voice, but he doesn’t expound on whatever is bothering him.

So Dean prods. “What’s wrong, Cas?”

During the long three seconds of silence that Castiel doesn’t answer, Dean’s imagination starts throwing up all kinds of awful possibilities, the worst being that Castiel won’t ever be coming back home. The thought terrifies him, and the buzz of a panic attack starts up under his skin.

“It’s Hannah,” Castiel finally says. And he sounds even more frustrated than before.

Dean sits up, and Lore lifts her head to give him a reproachful squint for disturbing her. He runs a palm over her soft fur, but he can barely feel it. His fingertips begin to tingle, and he can feel his heartbeat kicking into overdrive. “What about her?”

Castiel had told him that he’s run into Hannah a few times at the hospital when she came to visit his parents. Dean’s not jealous, not really. Castiel sounded irritated when he’d mentioned it the first time, but added that he couldn’t begrudge her the visits since she’s still friends with his mother. But for some reason her name is setting off alarms in Dean’s brain this time.

“She’s the one I’m training to help with the business until dad is recovered enough to work again,” Castiel says.

Dean frowns as his overclocked brain tries to connect some dots. “Hannah works for your mom?” 

“That’s how I first met her,” Castiel says. There’s a pop-hiss of a bottle opening, and Dean can picture him sprawled on the couch with a beer. He kinda wishes he had one right now, even though he hasn’t touched alcohol in years. “She manages the sales of the ciders to stores and restaurants. Since she’s already familiar with some of the inner workings of the business, she’s a good candidate to be mom’s assistant. The good news is that she should be ready to take over for me fairly quickly.”

If that’s good news, then why does Cas sound so irritated? “What’s the bad news?” Dean asks.

“I think my mother is hoping that by throwing us together like this, maybe something might come of it.”

Dean’s brain goes completely silent, but not in the peace and quiet kinda way. “Something?” he finally manages to ask, even though he thinks he already knows the answer. His fingers curl against Lore’s fur. Thankfully she interprets it as petting, and there’s not even a hitch in her purring.

“Dean. _Nothing_ is going to happen.” Castiel’s voice is firm, full of authority. “Mom means well, but Hannah and I will never get back together. And when things are settled down enough that I’m no longer needed here, I am coming back to Purgatory. Back to _you._ ”

He says it with so much conviction, that it obliterates all of Dean’s doubts. The buzz of anxiety recedes, and his muscles relax. He believes Cas. If he says there is nothing going on between him and Hannah, then it’s the truth. The spark of jealousy in Dean’s chest fizzle out completely.

Laying back against the pillows again, Dean resumes petting Lore like a normal person. And now he can actually enjoy the texture of her fur against his fingers. “You probably won’t be home in time for Thanksgiving though, will you?”

There’s a beat of silence, as if Castiel is thrown off by the subject change. “No,” he says. “I’ll probably be here until December.”

So he might be home for Christmas, which is great news. But it still feels so far away. 

“How about I come visit you?” He blinks at the unexpected question coming out of his own damn mouth. 

But he means it. If Cas wants him there, he’s going.

“Come… here?” Castiel is confused, but his next words are bright with excitement. “Yes! I would like that very much. Please come visit.”

“How long do you think it’ll take to drive up there?” Even as he asks it, Dean knows that’s going to be too much. Despite the crowds he’ll have to wade through in an airport, he thinks making the trip in a matter of hours rather than days will be the easier trial to master.

“It’s several days, Dean. Are you sure that you want to drive that long?” Some of the excitement in Castiel’s voice has been replaced with worry, but he still sounds hopeful.

“Nah, you’re right. It’d be better if I fly.”

“At this time of year, and with this short of notice that’s going to cost you an arm and a leg. Let me pay for it.”

“Cas you don’t have to--”

“ _Dean._ Please.”

The argument dries up on Dean’s tongue. He’d have to drain his savings account, and a big chunk of what he has in there is earmarked for the Impala’s paint job. But Cas can afford it, and he’s offering. “Fine,” he agrees. “But you’re not allowed to get me a Christmas present this year.”

“Well, nothing extravagant.”

“Cas.”

“Alright fine.” There’s that smile in his voice again. The soft one that seems to only be for Dean. “Are you sure you’ll be okay, Dean? I don’t want you to cause yourself undo stress by traveling.”

Dean’s jaw firms with determination. “I’m sure, Cas. I want to be there with you.” He’ll go pick up that new prescription first thing in the morning. And he’ll make sure his iPod is fully charged and loaded with Metallica. Maybe he should look into getting new headphones too, just in case… A sudden thought strikes him. It’s something else Pam had suggested during their phone session, and that Sam had unknowingly echoed earlier at lunch. “Hey, would you mind if I bring a friend? I think it’ll help if I’m not alone.”

“Of course,” Castiel agrees quickly. “I’ve got a spare room.”

Dean grins. He hopes Jo will want to go with him, because he really doesn’t want to travel with any of his other friends, and Sam’s out of the question until he’s out of his cast. But he has a good feeling that she’ll be up for it. He’s seen the way she sometimes looks down the highway that runs through the center of town, like she’s thinking of getting in the closest thing with wheels and taking off for fresher climes. After the autumn rush, the shop has been slow, and he’s sure he can close it down for a week around the holiday without any problems. He can tap Eileen to check on Lore and make sure her bowls are full and her litter box is clean while he’s gone.

“Okay then, send me the ticket details after you buy them, and we’ll be there soon.”

They speak late into the night. The conversation is light and cheerful, unlike the talks they’ve been having over the last week. The excitement of being reunited infects them both, and when the conversation turns sensual, it’s even more intense than usual as well.

When they finally say goodnight, it’s far too late to call Jo, but Dean dials her number anyway. She sounds sleepy and grumpy about being awake, but he doesn’t feel an ounce of guilt for disturbing her sleep. “Hey, Jo,” he says cheerfully. “Wanna go on a trip?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whaaaaat, another chapter already??? 
> 
> I'd like to finish this by the end of December. I'm not sure I'll manage it, but that doesn't mean I'm not gonna try XD


	27. Chapter 27

The hospital is bustling with activity as Castiel makes his way to his father’s room. Visiting hours outside the ICU tend to be much busier, and he has to dodge several families going to and from the rooms of their own hospital-bound loved ones. As usual, he finds his mother sitting at his father’s bedside. Unlike when Castiel first arrived in Boston a week ago, his father is awake and sitting up in bed.

Michael Militon has always seemed bigger than life to Castiel, even though they are similar in size now that Castiel is an adult. He has the same sharp blue eyes and dark hair that Castiel sees when he looks in a mirror, although Michael’s hair would never misbehave as much. Even now, it’s combed neatly, while Castiel’s probably looks like he’s never held a comb in his life. But even with the growing patches of gray at Michael’s temples, it would be obvious to anyone where Castiel had inherited his looks from. 

In some ways, that’s all Castiel feels like he has in common with the old man. Michael has an internal drive for success and perfection that Castiel definitely did not inherit. It’s what led him to retiring from the police force early and helping Anna expand her family’s brewery business. Much of that success was also due to Anna’s hard work, but Michael would always say that marrying her was part of his Master Plan for success. It sounds callous, until you see the glint in Michael’s eyes whenever he looks at Anna. Castiel has never doubted how much his father loves his mother.

Even if sometimes he doubted his father loved him.

He doesn’t really believe that anymore, not for a very long time. Teenage angst was to blame for most of his doubts, and he’s certainly outgrown them. But emotional reserve is something Michael values highly, and it has led Castiel to struggling too hard to please his father. It’s difficult sometimes to understand how much his father cared for him, especially since Anna is so much more openly affectionate. It had taken a long time for Castiel to understand that Michael’s constant pushing and prodding was his way of showing his love.

Unfortunately, while Castiel understands his father much better with the clearer hindsight of adulthood, his childhood fears and frustrations aren’t easy to dismiss. So when he enters the room, and Michael looks up at him with his usual stern frown, Castiel is already bristling.

“You’re late,” Michael says. His words are slurred. The stroke had been minor, thankfully, but still affected his motor skills, including his ability to form words.

Castiel manages to keep the irritation out of his tone. “I’m sorry. Traffic was worse than I thought it would be.” He approaches his mother and bends down to kiss the top of her head. “Hi mom.”

She pats his arm and beams up at him. “Thank you for coming. Although I could have driven him home myself.”

“I came to Boston to help. This is helping.” It’s also only half the reason he’s here, but he’s not going to admit that he’s avoiding going into the office while Hannah is there. He turns his attention to his father, knowing that Michael will resent being treated like an invalid and having people talking about him like he’s not present. “Have you already been discharged?”

His father nods, but doesn’t answer verbally. Castiel feels a pang of guilt for his irritation. Michael is going through a lot right now, and the least Castiel can do is set aside his own issues for now.

Anna rises to her feet. “I’ll go let someone know we’re ready to leave.” She pauses to kiss Michael before she leaves the room, but she gives Castiel a _look_ on her way out.

Sighing quietly, Castiel settles down in her abandoned chair and gives his father a wry smile. “I’m sure you’ll be glad to get out of here.”

Michael grunts softly, and one side of his mouth pulls up in a rare smile. “Tired of hospital food.”

Castiel chuckles. “Trust me, I understand that sentiment very well.”

Their eyes meet, and the tension Anna had tried to diffuse rises up between them again. Castiel remembers when their positions were reversed. When he was recovering from the injuries he received during the mugging, and Michael visited him while his condition had been most critical. And then a few years later, when Castiel had overdosed. 

Most of those later memories are cloudy for Castiel. The haze of detox made it hard to distinguish dreams from reality. But he does remember Michael sitting at his bedside through some of it.

It seems odd to him that it’s been less than a year since then.

Castiel reaches out and settles his hand on the bed, close but not touching Michael’s hand. “I’m glad you’re alright, dad.”

To his surprise, Michael lifts his hand and bridges the gap, resting his palm on top of Castiel’s hand. “Too stub’rn,” he mumbles. His smile widens, despite the fact that one side of his face doesn’t work properly anymore. “Y’get that from me.”

Castiel raises an eyebrow. “Stubbornness?”

“A will to live,” Michael corrects solemnly.

Dropping his head, Castiel stares at the floor between his feet. “I tried to kill myself.”

For a long moment, Michael is quiet. But his fingers curl until he’s holding Castiel’s hand in his own. The pressure is weak, but the gesture is anything but. “I know.” Michael’s voice is soft, and sounds so very tired that it makes Castiel’s throat ache. He enunciates each word slowly and carefully, sounding more like himself than he has since his stroke. “I’m glad you’re alright too, son.”

A prickling starts behind Castiel’s eyes, and he blinks rapidly to disperse the tears before they can well over and fall. When Michael had visited him in the hospital they hadn’t talked about what Castiel had done. Michael isn’t great at open communication, and Castiel wasn’t in the condition, or the mood. What was there to talk about? Castiel had messed up his marriage, and then his life with the drug use. Had nearly ended it in fact. His whole life he’d always wanted to make his father proud, but he screwed that up too.

So when he was well enough to check himself out of the hospital, he’d done so while his parents were not around to talk him out of it, and he’d left Boston behind a few days later. 

Looking back on it now, he knows he was being very stupid again. He hadn’t been in good condition, and being on the road would have been dangerous in an armored car, much less a motorcycle. 

He hadn’t cared. He was still spiralling, and it took months to feel like the pit he was falling into wasn’t too deep to pull himself back out of. 

But somehow he’d found his footing again. And the will to rebuild the wreck of his life. In Purgatory he’s found a solid foundation to build from.

It’s hard being back in Boston, where he’s faced daily with reminders of his failures. But he’s dealing with it, much better than he thought he could before he arrived.

His father’s words definitely help though. “Thanks, Dad,” he says softly.

Michael gives his hand another gentle squeeze. It’s more affection than Castiel has received from him in a long time.

“You’re happy,” Michael says. 

It’s not quite a question, but Castiel treats it like one. “Mostly. I miss home.”

One dark brow goes up, and Castiel cracks a smile at the familiar expression. It’s one he’s caught sight of in the mirror. 

“You are home?” Since the stroke, Michael sometimes has difficulty with complex sentences, and it’s clear from his expression that he’s struggling with finding his words right now.

Castiel understands what he’s asking though. He shakes his head. “Boston isn’t my home anymore. It’s back in Purgatory… with my boyfriend Dean.”

He watches his father warily. It’s been a long time since he’s acknowledged his bisexuality with his dad, and he worries that maybe Michael didn’t seem to have a problem with it because he thought it was a phase.

The frown smoothes from Michael’s features, and he dips his chin. “Makes you happy. Dean… is your home.”

Castiel smiles, even as he swallows against the lump in his throat. “Yes he is.”

Michael’s fingers tighten around his again. “Good.”

It’s hardly anything. Just a hand squeeze and some words of support. But it still leaves Castiel reeling, unsure what to say. He doesn’t think they’ve ever talked about things like this, and while he appreciates that it’s happening, he still feels a growing sadness that it took both of them a near death experience to get here. 

He’ll take the second chance though. 

Before he can decide how to continue the conversation, his mother returns with a young nurse and a wheelchair… and Hannah.

Castiel straightens in his seat and clears his throat. He resists the urge to wipe at his eyes, blinking a few times to clear his vision as he forces a smile for her. “Hello Hannah.”

Her smile is uncertain. “Hi Castiel.”

He stands so that he won’t be in the way while the nurse helps his dad get dressed and into the wheelchair. He gestures for Hannah to precede him and they leave the room. Outside, he crosses his arms and leans against the wall next to the door, keeping his eyes focused on his shoes. They’re a nice pair of leather dress shoes that he’d left in his closet when he’d left Boston early in the year. Suddenly feeling homesick, he wiggles his toes, wishing he’d worn the tattered Nikes that Dean had given him to use until Castiel could buy his own in Crossroads. They weren’t quite the right size, but they were comfortable, and more importantly they were Dean’s. He would love to have that small connection right now.

“Are we ever going to talk?” Hannah asks after the silence between them stretches into uncomfortable territory.

Castiel sighs and lifts his head to look at her. It strikes him, as it always does, how beautiful she is. Her dark hair is pulled away from her face to spill in wavy curls down her back. She needs to trim her bangs because she has to keep brushing them out of her eyes. Even as he thinks it she reaches up to push them away, and her lips curve in an unconscious pout. 

In the past, he would have wanted to kiss that pout away, but the urge is no longer there. Despite her beauty, he has no interest in her anymore.

And he isn’t interested in talking either. “Do you have questions about work? We can cover them at the office--”

“You know what I mean,” she cuts in sharply.

He sighs, and wishes he were far away from here, sitting at his desk in the sheriff’s office or fiddling around with Dean’s tools like he knows what they’re all for. “Then the answer is probably not,” he says tiredly.

“Castiel--”

When Hannah reaches out to touch him, Castiel moves away. “Now is not a good time anyway.”

As if answering a prayer, the door next to him opens and his parents come out, his mother pushing his father in the wheelchair. Castiel straightens and turns to his parents, deliberately putting his back to Hannah. “I’ll go out and pull the car around and I’ll meet you outside.”

Anna’s eyes flick between him and Hannah, but she only nods wordlessly. He knows she’s disappointed that her attempts to push them together aren’t working. But he’d had a long talk with her at dinner the night before, and he’s fairly certain that he’s made it clear that he and Hannah are over for good. It had surprised him that she’d even try when he’s been so clear about his happiness with Dean. But he supposes he can understand her looking for a reason to keep him close to home.

Still, it’s almost funny to him that his father seems to be more supportive of his relationship with Dean than his mother. He’d always thought it would be the other way around. 

He makes his way out of the hospital to go pick up his car, pulling it up to park in front of the doors where he can pick up his parents. While he waits, he tries to ignore the anger boiling inside of him. How many times had he asked Hannah to talk and she’d turned away from him? And she wants to talk _now?_ After everything he went through without her at his side? After he’d finally let go and moved on with his life? 

Thankfully, when his parents come outside, Hannah is not with them. His anger cools, replaced with guilt. Giving Hannah a taste of her own medicine is not the best way to handle the situation, and isn’t nearly as satisfying as he wants it to be. And if she’s going to be working so closely with his family, he really should try to make peace with her. She’s the best person for the job, and he doesn’t want to drive a wedge between her and his mother.

Getting his parents home and settled in takes the rest of the morning. A home nurse comes by to set up the bathroom and shower, and to go over general care with Anna, and Castiel stays with her to learn what he can as well. Afterwards he makes lunch for his parents and cleans things up for them before heading back to his empty condo. 

His mother had tried to talk him into staying longer, but Dean’s flight will be landing soon, and he has a few things he wants to take care of at home before he goes to pick them up from the airport. The low hum of excitement that he’s been ignoring all day flares to life on his way home. 

As he’s pulling out his keys to let himself into his condo, his phone rings. He pulls it from his pocket, and grins at Dean’s picture on his screen. He thumbs the answer icon and puts it up to his ear as he unlocks the door. “Hello Dean.”

“Nope, it’s me.” Jo’s voice is bright and cheerful, and despite the fact that he hadn’t expected her to be on the line, Castiel’s mood is buoyed even further by the sound.

“Hello Jo. Has your flight landed already?” He’d been about to toss his keys in a bowl on the entryway table, but he tightens his fingers around them. “Why are you calling me from Dean’s phone?”

“Yeah, apparently we made good time and the weather cooperated or something.” There’s a shuffling sound and a soft thump, like a door shutting. “And Dean? He barely woke up long enough to get off the plane.”

Castiel’s heartbeat kicks up. “Is he okay?”

“Yeah, he’s fine. But he’s zonked out in the back seat of the rental.”

Running a hand over his face, Castiel tries to focus on the fact that Jo doesn’t sound worried. “You didn’t have to get a rental, Jo. I was going to come pick you up.”

“Yeah, well I wanted to have my own set of wheels while we’re here. Gonna see the sights while you two get all canoodly.”

“We’re not going get--” he cuts off, because they’re _definitely_ going to get canoodly. “Okay, that’s probably a good idea.”

Jo’s laugh tinkles across the line. “Uh huh, sure is! Now give me your address.”

He rattles it off to her, and waits for her to confirm she got it right. But she cuts off in the middle, and by the way the sound mutes he can tell she’s pushed the phone to her chest. He assumes she’s talking to Dean.

“Are you sure he’s okay?” he asks when she comes back to the line.

“Relax, he’s okay. Just groggy and grumpy. You know what a bear he is when he’s tired.” 

Guilt sinks its claws into his stomach, making his gut twist painfully. Dean’s _not_ okay. They’d talked about what kind of treatment he needs for his agoraphobia, which consists of exposing him to the things that stress him out, but it should be in small doses with trusted people present. Instead, Dean drove hours away, spent hours in crowded airports and on a plane, and now he’s in another unfamiliar place…

“This might be too much for him,” he sighs.

“Well it’s too late to turn back, since we’re already here,” Jo says brightly. “Anyway, the GPS says there’s traffic, so I don’t know how long it’ll be till we get there, but we’re on our way.”

“Alright, be safe.”

“You got it. See you soon!”

She hangs up before he can ask if Dean is awake enough to talk to him. Staring at Dean’s picture and the blinking time stamp on his phone screen, he sighs again. Dean said he’d be fine taking this trip, and Jo insists he’s okay. So Castiel needs to trust those assurances.

After the screen goes blank, he tucks his phone back in his pocket and leaves the condo again. He visits the security desk and drops off a spare key for Dean and Jo to pick up when they arrive, and to make sure they have access to use his parking space. Then he goes back upstairs and starts digging through the fridge. His stomach is tied in knots of anticipation, so he’s not hungry, but he’s going to make sure there’s food for his guests when they get here.

Just as he’s decided on the perfect meal, there’s a knock on his door. Excitement surges through him, and he rushes to answer. “I told you to come right in--” He cuts off with a frown when he realizes it’s not Dean and Jo on the other side of the door.

“Sorry, I left my lockpicks at home.” Grinning impishly, Charlie launches herself into his arms. 

Instinctively, Castiel wraps his arms around her, and then tightens them in a proper hug when his brain catches up with events. “Hello Charlie.” He releases her and gestures for her to come in. “I’m sorry, you’re not who I was expecting.”

She tsks at him as she breezes past him. “I can’t believe you’re having guests over when you haven’t even visited me once since you got home.”

He wonders when it became strange to hear Boston referred to as ‘home’. “I’m sorry,” he says again. “I’ve been so busy, with dad and--”

“Hey, I was just teasing.” Charlie unwinds the scarf from her neck and pulls off her gloves and beanie, leaving strands of bright red sticking up over the crown of her head like a crown. “I came to check on you and make sure you’re not drowning under everything. I know you’ve got a lot going on.”

His shoulders relax, and he gives her a fond smile. Even if he hasn’t missed Boston, he’s missed Charlie. He enjoys his new home, and his new friends, and working with Sam and Jody is a lot of fun, but it’s not quite the same as spending every day with Charlie as his partner. She’s very much like a sister to him.

“Dad’s going to be okay, so I am too,” he assures her.

“That’s good news.” She pokes him in the ribs, making him squirm away when she unerringly goes for the ticklish spot. “But you were planning on calling me soon, right?” 

Rubbing his side, he doesn’t bother to mask his guilt. “Actually…”

Throwing her hands up in the air, she spins on a heel and heads for the fridge. “Some friend you are! I hope you’ve got beer.”

He follows her into the kitchen. “No beer.” He doesn’t really drink it anymore since he started living with Dean. “But help yourself to whatever else is in there.”

“Dude, you’ve got the fancy rootbeer!” 

“It’s for Dean,” he says. “And I’m glad you stopped by, because Dean will be here soon, and I’d love for you to meet him.”

Charlie’s head pops up over the door of the fridge, her eyes wide and her mouth shaping an O of excitement. “Really? That’s great!” Having settled on a Coke, she closes the fridge and pops the can’s tab. “You should hear the things I found in his background check.”

“I’m already aware of the stolen car incident,” he says with a chuckle. “It was a highschool prank, and it wasn’t even his idea.”

“Oh damn, he’s an honest one,” she sighs. “This game isn’t any fun if he’s going to tell you all his dark secrets.”

“I’d hardly call stealing the principal's car and parking it inside the school gym a dark secret,” he says with a chuckle. He remembers learning that story, on a night they’d gone to the Roadhouse for karaoke, and everyone was talking over each other trying to tell their most embarrassing stories about Dean. But everyone had been impressed with the senior prank story, and even Dean had contributed to telling it, clearly struggling to hide his pride over pulling it off. “I doubt it stands up to any of your own dark secrets,” he teases.

“Hey, the NORAD thing _never happened_.” She sticks her tongue out to emphasize the point. Maturely, and very convincingly.

He rolls his eyes, but doesn’t argue. “I’m about to start dinner. Are you hungry?”

“Hell yes!” She settles onto a stool at the kitchen island. “I miss your cooking.”

Lord knows why, since he’s no chef. But then again, Charlie could probably burn water, so anything he makes is better than take out and frozen dinners, he supposes. They talk while he works, mostly about Castiel’s dad and about his new job in Purgatory. Charlie seems disappointed that he’s definitely settling in there, but assures him that she’s happy that he’s happy, and Skype was invented for friendships like theirs.

When keys jingle outside the door, they both look up expectantly.

“Hello?” Jo calls from down the hall.

Wiping his hands on a towel, Castiel hurries to the door. Jo is peeking through, and when she sees him she throws it wide and rushes to give him a hug. Castiel returns the embrace, but his attention is focused over her head to the man standing behind her in the doorway.

Dean looks like hell warmed over. His hair looks like he’s been tugging at it, his skin is too pale, and there are lines of strain around his bloodshot eyes. But the dimples of discontent around his mouth disappear when he meets Castiel’s gaze, and a smile spreads across his features. It’s like the sun coming out from behind a bank of dark clouds, illuminating Dean’s eyes and revealing the young, freckled man behind the shadows.

When Jo releases him, Castiel walks straight into Dean’s arms. His hand settles on the back of Dean’s neck, and he pulls him in for a kiss.

“Are they always like this?” Charlie asks after a long moment.

Jo snorts with amusement. “Only on days that end in Y.”

Castiel ignores them both and just holds Dean tighter.

* * *

Dean sighs into Castiel’s mouth. The bands of anxiety that had grown slowly tighter around his chest throughout the long day of travel loosen, and he feels like he can breathe normally for the first time in hours. When the kiss finally ends, he rests his forehead against Castiel’s. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” Castiel whispers into the tiny space between their faces. “Are you alright?”

Not anywhere close. Dean inhales deeply, pulling in Castiel’s scent. It settles him even further, and he’s able to smile. It’s strained, but he hopes Castiel won’t worry too much. “I’m much better now.”

Castiel pulls back a little to search Dean’s face. Worry furrows his brows, but he seems to accept Dean’s reassurances despite whatever he sees. “Will some food help?”

“Yeah.” The smell of whatever Castiel has been cooking finally registers and Dean realizes he’s starving. He hasn’t eaten since before leaving Purgatory, afraid that he wouldn’t be able to keep it down with the way his stomach kept quivering with nerves. “Definitely.”

Some of the worry fades from Castiel’s eyes, and he takes Dean’s hand in his own to lead him further inside. Dean takes in the space in a quick glance. The living area is combined with the kitchen and dining area, and there’s a hallway on the far wall that probably leads to the bedrooms and bathrooms. He notices the lack of knick-knacks and the plain art on the walls. The place is nice, but it seems cold and unlived in. It makes him ache to think of Castiel all alone here, and despite the ordeal of his mental health he’s glad he’s here now. If all he can do to help is add a little warmth and comfort to Castiel’s life while he’s stuck here, then Dean will do it to the best of his ability.

Jo is seated on a stool at the kitchen island next to a petite woman with vivid red hair. They have their heads together, whispering conspiratorially. He grimaces at the sight. “They look like best friends already. That can’t be good.”

Castiel chuckles. “Probably not. How much do you want to bet they’re exchanging embarassing stories about us?”

“Um, duh of course we are.” Jo lifts her head and grins widely. “Sorry Dean-o, I may have to share a few of your secrets so I can get some dirt on Castiel.”

Dean groans in mock horror. “Just please don’t talk about Prom.”

The redhead perks up. “Now I’ll absolutely _need_ to hear that story.”

Grinning fondly, Castiel gestures at his friend. “This is Charlie.” He gives her a warning look. “And she’s not _really_ going to dig up all your secrets.”

“Maybe not all of them,” Charlie says, smiling impishly. She bounds up from her stool and hurries over to Dean, stopping just before she collides with him. She gives him a narrow eyed look. “Pop quiz: Original Trilogy or The Prequels?”

“Original Trilogy all the way,” Dean answers. “Although I might have voted for the new ones if Rise of Skywalker hadn’t ruined my whole damn life.”

“The Last Jedi?” She asks.

“Hell yeah,” he confirms.

A radiant smile blooms across her face, and she throws herself at him for a tight hug. When she pulls back, she’s still grinning. “Did we just become best friends?”

“Hey!” Castiel says with an exaggerated pout. When she laughs and waves away his jealous act, he smiles warmly at her. “I’m assuming you and Jo have already introduced yourselves.”

Charlie bounces back to Jo’s side and links their arms together. “What else were we supposed to do? You guys were so busy saying hello to each other that you forgot all about us.”

When Jo ducks her head shyly, but not before Dean sees the pink blooming in her cheeks. Well then. It looks like someone’s interested. He can’t remember if Castiel has said anything about Charlie’s preferences, and he hopes Jo doesn’t get in over her head.

Worrying about Jo seems to calm some of the anxiety that has been simmering inside him despite the fact that he’s doped up on the happy pills Pam prescribed for him. He’s really fucking grateful she agreed to come with him, because he probably wouldn’t have made it without her. Just the first airport had been almost too much, and he’d been ready to turn his truck around and drive back to Purgatory. He probably would have if Jo hadn’t done her best to keep him distracted.

He doesn’t even want to contemplate what kind of scene he would have made when it was time to get on the plane if he’d been alone.

His stomach grumbles loudly, distracting him from those thoughts, and he sniffs at the air curiously. “What are you making?”

Castiel grins, and lets go of Dean so he can check the oven. Dean immediately misses his warmth, and his feet carry him along in Castiel’s wake. 

“It’s something I promised I would make for you someday.”

Frowning, Dean struggles to remember. The medical fog hanging thick inside his skull makes his thoughts move sluggishly. He watches as Castiel pulls out a tray of crispy steak fries. He lifts a brow at Castiel in question.

Castiel covers the fries with a clean dish towel to keep them warm, and then pulls a packet of gravy mix out of the cupboard. “I hope you don’t mind that the gravy isn’t made from scratch,” he says as he measures out some water and puts it in the microwave. “I’m not as good at making it as you are.”

Behind them, Charlie makes an interested sound. “So he can cook?”

“He does alright.” Jo’s voice holds a note of teasing. “He took Home Ec classes with me in highschool when we were dating.”

Dean glares at her. “We weren’t dating. You just followed me around everywhere with heart eyes.”

Jo clicks her tongue. “Everyone thought we were dating. Even Benny, and I know he’s the real reason you signed up for the class.” She leans close to Charlie, whose eyes are bright with delighted curiosity. “Dean and I didn’t work out because I’m not really his type.”

She was also just a pimply freshman, and he was in his senior year. But before he can remind her of that, Charlie gasps.

“How could you not be?” she asks. “You’re gorgeous!”

And now both women are blushing, and glancing away from each other. And ain’t that just adorable as fuck. Dean wipes a hand over his mouth to hide his grin, and looks over to see Castiel’s shoulders shaking with silent laughter as he stirs the gravy. Their eyes meet, and they share an amused look.

“I’m still not sure what you’re making,” Dean says as Castiel finishes whisking the gravy and sets it aside to raid the fridge. 

Castiel comes back with what looks like a package of white cheese. “Poutine.”

Dean’s eyes widen, and his mouth starts to water. His mood instantly improves tenfold. Anxiety? What anxiety? “Cas, have I ever told you that you’re the man of my dreams?”

Castiel laughs and hands him a plate.

One bite of the gravy and cheese covered fries convinces Dean of two things. The first is that poutine is giving pie a run for its money. The second is that he’s keeping Castiel forever and ever, amen.

They all eat around the kitchen island. Dean and Castiel stand hip to hip as they share their meal, teasingly stealing from each other’s plates. Charlie and Jo spend most of their time chatting, telling stories about Castiel and Dean as if they’re not present. Dean keeps his silence, letting Jo get away with embellishments, but Castiel doesn’t let Charlie get away with the same, correcting her outlandish stories with less exciting versions.

From the way Charlie talks about their time working together, Castiel sounds like a big damn hero. Castiel tries to wave away her praise, but Dean can’t help but believe Charlie’s sincerity. And it sounds like the two of them had been a very successful team. 

“Yeah, and then _someone_ stole my partner,” Charlie says, giving Dean a mocking side-glare.

Sliding his arm around Castiel’s hips, Dean gives her a smile dripping with smug satisfaction. “And I’m keeping him.”

Castiel leans into his side, and hides a smile against his shoulder. 

“Yeah, but do you need to keep him in Small Town USA? You could move up here, and he could come back to work. His job’s still open.” She grins brightly. “He can afford to keep you as his kept boy, so you don’t even have to worry about finding a job right away.”

At the suggestion of leaving Purgatory to move to a huge, strange city, Dean’s stomach flips. A low buzz fills his ears, and his eyes unfocus. The anxiety returns so suddenly and strongly, that he sways on his feet.

Castiel’s arm around his hips tightens, not exactly holding him upright, but providing a steadying presence. It tugs him away from the edge, and some of his focus returns just as Castiel says “I love Purgatory. It’s my home now.”

His eyes flick up to Dean’s, and they’re full of care and reassurance. And something else, something warm and… loving.

Dean almost opens his mouth right then and there to confess everything that is in his heart. But the weight of the stares from their audience of two keeps him silent. It’s not that he doesn’t want them to know. He’ll gladly shout it from the rooftops. But not the first time. That moment should belong to Castiel alone.

Harmonized cooing from the peanut gallery makes him tear his eyes away from Castiel, and he finds both women watching them with their elbows propped on the counter, chins in their hands. Eying them with the same glee usually reserved for the love confession scene in a chick flick.

“Wow,” Charlie says with awe, “you two have it _bad._ ”

“ _So_ bad,” Jo says with a solemn nod.

They both burst into giggles, leaning into each other like schoolgirls. 

“Alright alright, yuck it up you tweens,” Dean says, rolling his eyes fondly. 

When they finally pull their shit together, Charlie sighs dramatically. “Well, I guess you can keep him.”

“Gee, thanks,” Castiel says dryly, although he’s smiling.

“I was talking to Dean,” she counters before sticking her tongue out at him.

This time they all join in on the laughter. 

The conversation turns to Dean and Jo’s plans for their visit. Jo isn’t staying long, just a few days to check out the city before she catches a flight back home, while Dean plans on staying until he can travel back with Castiel. Charlie boos at Jo, and immediately starts trying to talk her into staying longer because there’s so much to see and do, and she needs to take advantage of Castiel’s deep pockets.

While they’re talking, Dean feels a vibration against his leg where it’s pressed up against Castiel’s. They shift apart enough for Castiel to fish his phone from his pocket and check the Caller ID. Almost immediately he hits ignore and shoves the phone back in his pocket. 

It buzzes again. Castiel ignores it.

Dean gives him a questioning look, but Castiel’s jaw clenches and he gives a tiny headshake. He looks angry, which makes Dean burn with curiosity, but it’s obvious Cas doesn’t want to talk about it right now so he lets it go. He’s about to join in on Charlie’s browbeating to get Jo to stay longer when Castiel’s phone buzzes again.

Castiel huffs out an annoyed “I have to take this,” and pulls out from under Dean’s arm. He pulls the phone out and answers it as he makes his way down the hall, and his greeting sounds frustrated and curt before he slips through one of the doors.

Dean barely notices the quiet that falls over the room and the curious look the women give him as he stares down the hallway to where Castiel disappeared. He doesn’t spare them a look when he decides to follow. “I’ll be back.”

The voice of reason in the back of his head is telling him that he shouldn’t listen in on the call, but for some reason Castiel’s reaction to the call is setting off his protective instincts. He follows the sound of Castiel’s voice, hearing the anger and wondering who could set off his normally zen boyfriend. The door to the room Castiel escaped to is open, so Dean stands in the doorway, making no move to conceal his presence, even though Castiel’s back is too the door.

“What exactly do we have to talk about? We’re divorced, Hannah. We have no relationship.”

Dean’s spine goes ramrod straight. All the jealousy he thought he’d buried bubbles back to the surface, bringing with it the anxiety that has been lying dormant since he’d first walked into Castiel’s arms when he’d arrived. It fills him to the brim, making his skin feel too tight, his eyes ache under the pressure, and he winces when his fingernails dig into his palms. 

Forcing himself to breathe, he unclenches his fists. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he leans against the doorframe to ease the sudden tremble in his limbs.

“Hannah, now is a bad time anyway. I’ve got guests.” Castiel’s voice is curt. Dean has never heard him speak so sharply to anyone. “We’ll talk at the office.” He lowers the phone from his ear and thumbs the end button before lifting his arm like he wants to throw the innocent device across the room.

Dean’s eyebrows pop up in surprise. Castiel isn’t just irritated, he’s fucking pissed.

Instead of throwing the phone, Castiel takes a deep breath and lowers his arm. He speaks without turning. “I really should talk to her. We’ve got a few unresolved issues we should work through if we’re going to be working together for a little while.”

Does Dean find it kind of impressive that Castiel knew he was there? Yes. Also sexy. But that might also have something to do with the caged beast vibe he’s putting off as he begins to prowl around the room. He stays right where he is, watching Castiel try to walk off his irritation. “What do you think she wants?”

If she wants Cas, she’s going to have to fight for him. Not metaphorically. Dean _will_ come armed to the battle.

Castiel stops in the middle of the room and runs his fingers through his hair, leaving the dark strands standing up in weird directions. Dean smiles at the sight, remembering times he’s left Castiel’s hair mussed with his own fingers. 

“I don’t know what she wants, and at the moment I don’t give a shit,” Castiel grinds out. He takes a deep breath, expelling it slowly with his eyes closed. His shoulders sink as the tension eases from them, and he looks calm when he opens his eyes again. His gaze finds Dean, and he smiles warmly. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Now that he isn’t worried about the angry beast taking a swipe at him anymore, Dean straightens from his lean against the doorway and approaches. Castiel sinks against Dean when he’s close enough to hug him. “I’m sorry it took me a while to get my head around making the trip.”

Castiel nuzzles Dean’s jaw, and it’s a good thing he hasn’t shaved in a few days so that his stubble is softer. And Cas seems to like it if his pleased hum means anything. “I know it must have been hard for you.”

Not as hard as he’d feared. The airport was rough, but anyone would have a hard time dealing with the holiday crowds. And having Jo there to keep him awake and moving through the flow of people while he was doped up on his medication had made things easier than they could have been.

He wouldn’t have done it for any other reason than being here for Castiel though. Wrapping his arms tight around Castiel’s shoulders, he presses a kiss to his temple. “You’re worth it.”

Castiel turns his head, and their eyes meet briefly before slipping shut as they both lean in for a kiss. It’s soft, chaste, and immediately followed by another, and another. And then Castiel nips at Dean’s bottom lip, striking a match and lighting up Dean’s whole nervous system.

“Do you think the girls will let us have some alone time?” Castiel whispers against Dean’s lips.

Dean brushes their noses together. “It couldn’t hurt to ask.”

With a growl, Castiel pushes Dean up against the wall next to the open door. He reaches out to catch the edge of the door with one hand, and calls down the hall. “You ladies make yourselves at home. We’ll see you in the morning!” 

Feminine laughter drifts down the hall, but is cut off when Castiel slams the door shut. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woot, squeaked it in before the holiday drags everyone off to do family stuff :D
> 
> I hope the weekend is warm, safe, and happy, whether you celebrate Christmas or not <3


	28. Chapter 28

Castiel’s eyes are dark with desire when he looks up at Dean. “So, you missed me, did you? How much?”

The low, rusty voiced question sends a tingle down Dean’s spine. “I’ll show you.”

Without waiting for an answer, he wedges a hand between them going straight for Castiel’s fly. Castiel makes a noise of approval and moves back just enough to give Dean room to work. Dean pushes him back a little more, and drops to his knees, tugging Castiel’s pants and underwear down around his thighs as he goes.

Dean’s mouth waters at the sight of Castiel’s half hard cock, and he licks his lips in anticipation. He’s missed the weight of Castiel’s cock on his tongue, and the way he has to stretch his jaws wide to handle its girth. Leaning in, he nuzzles the velvety skin. He takes a deep breath through his nose, closing his eyes as the musky scent clouds his senses. 

Heat coalesces in his chest, and he aches with how much he loves this man. He wants to spend hours showing him just how much, worshipping him with his hands and mouth, whispering words of love into his damp skin.

He mouths at the head of Castiel’s cock, moaning happily at the familiar flavor he licks from his lips. His tongue flicks out, capturing a taste from the source.

Above him, Castiel moans his name, and Dean responds by opening his lips wide and sucking Castiel’s cock deep into his mouth. He moans as he feels it harden further against his tongue, and he bobs his head, sealing his lips to give Castiel something tight to fuck into. Castiel takes the invitation, threading his fingers into Dean’s hair and guiding his rhythm. Dean clutches Castiel’s thighs, hanging on for the ride.

It doesn’t take long until Castiel’s hips are stuttering, and his voice is breaking over Dean’s name. And Dean swallows every drop of what he’s given, sucking and swallowing around the head of Castiel’s cock until he’s shuddering and pulling away from oversensitivity.

Breathing hard, Castiel braces an arm against the wall above Dean. He leans his forehead against it and smiles down at him, his teeth flashing white in a lazy grin. “Well that was quick,” he grates out in that post-orgasm voice that makes him sound like he either gargled rocks or spent the last hour screaming himself hoarse. “Does that prove how much you missed me, or how much I missed you?”

Dean licks his lips and drags a wrist across his spit damp chin. He shifts his weight in preparation to stand, and winces when his knee twinges. “Maybe a little bit of both?”

Huffing a laugh, Castiel reaches down to help Dean back to his feet. Help Dean needs because his “good” knee has decided to take a vacation after kneeling for a few minutes. Castiel’s eyes are dark, his smile wicked, as he traps Dean in the space between his body and the wall. “Well, to make this conclusive, maybe I should return the favor.”

Before Dean can grab his wrist, Castiel cups him through his jeans. His brow furrows in confusion when he realizes Dean isn’t hard at all. “Dean?”

Shame heats Dean’s cheeks, and he drops his head against Castiel’s shoulder. “It’s a side effect of my meds,” he murmurs. He turns his face into Castiel’s neck, breathing in his warmth and seeking forgiveness for all the ways his body fails him. “Sorry.”

Strong arms wrap around his shoulders, and Castiel presses a kiss against his ear. “You have nothing to apologize for,” he says softly, but with so much conviction that Dean’s doubts crumble under the weight of his sincerity. His palms rub soothing circles on Dean’s shoulders, before sliding up his neck and cupping his cheeks.

Dean allows himself to be lifted from his hiding place, but he keeps his eyes on Castiel’s lips. Castiel’s thumbs stroke across his cheekbones, and he leans his face into the touch.

“You could have told me before,” Castiel says, voice gentle as his touch. “You didn’t have to--”

Dean cuts him off before he can ruin the moment by denying it. “Yes I did, because I wanted to.” He meets Castiel’s gaze, determined to make the truth clear in his own eyes. There’s no judgement in Castiel’s, only concern and understanding and affection. Dean wraps his arms around Castiel’s waist, and smiles teasingly as he cups one bare buttock to pull their hips flush. “I wanted to make you feel good, because it makes me feel good too.”

A crooked smile tugs at Castiel’s lips, and he sends a suggestive glance at the bed. “Are you sure that’s all I can do to make you feel good?”

“I’m not going to say no to some serious cuddling,” Dean agrees. But he tilts his head at the closed door. “You don’t think we should go back out and join the girls?”

Castiel shakes his head emphatically as he toes off his shoes and kicks off his pants, and pulls Dean along as he backs toward the bed. On the way there, he starts tugging at Dean’s clothes as well. “I need you to myself for a little while.” 

Grinning, Dean gets to work getting naked. A laugh bubbles up in his throat when Castiel falls back on the bed, dragging him down into the fluffy comforter and pillows.

* * *

For the first time since returning to Boston, Castiel wakes up encased in a sense of _home._ It has nothing to do with the fact that he’s stayed in his condo long enough to start leaving his belongings around without putting them away, or the fact that the sheets no longer smell musty from disuse. It has everything to do with the hard body draped over him, keeping him warmer than any down comforter could. Strong arms hold him tight, long legs tangle with his own, and when he shifts he feels the hair on Dean’s calves catch against his own.

Most of the time Castiel prefers to sleep on his stomach, and he’ll often wake with Dean using his back as a pillow, but today he’s stretched on his back. Dean’s cheek is smashed against his pec, and he’s drooling a little right over Castiel’s heart. It’s gross, but it makes Castiel smile, and he lifts a hand to run it through Dean’s hair.

Snuffling, Dean somehow snuggles closer. His stubble scrapes Castiel’s skin when he speaks. “If you keep petting me like that, I’m going to start thinking you miss my cat more than you missed me.”

Undeterred, Castiel continues the slow strokes, lengthening each one until they reach from Dean’s forehead to the back of his neck. “I do miss Lore.” He chuckles when Dean turns his head just enough to bite his pec. “But I’d rather pet you.”

In response, Dean stretches against him, his large body flexing in one long sinuous movement. And then he rolls even further onto Castiel, throwing a leg over his thighs. He nuzzles up under Castiel’s jaw, nipping at a sensitive spot that sends jolts of pleasure through all his erogenous zones. “Well pet away, buddy, I’m not gonna tell you to stop.”

The lazy movements and sleepy drawl make Castiel smile. Normally at this time of the morning Dean would be up and about, probably dressed and making breakfast too. He’s only a cuddler late at night, as they’re falling asleep. Early morning languishing in bed is Castiel’s thing.

Shifting, and tugging Dean further on top of his body, he lifts his knees and traps Dean’s hips between them. Using both hands, he massages Dean’s scalp, enjoying the deep moans his hands elicit as they move down over Dean’s neck and shoulders and as far down his spine as Castiel can reach.

When Castiel’s hands make the return trip, Dean lifts himself up on his arms and Castiel’s hands slip from his hair to cup his jaw. With the lightest touch, he guides Dean down for a kiss. He hums against Dean’s lips. “Morning breath. Always sexy.”

When Dean tries to escape, pushing up on his arms, Castiel laughs and tugs him back down. “Hey don’t go anywhere. I said it was sexy.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Dork.” But he leans down for another kiss.

Castiel nips at his bottom lip playfully. Something burns under his skin, and it’s making him giddy.

Growling at his teasing, Dean deepens the kiss, apparently no longer self conscious. He releases Castiel’s mouth after too short a time, but only to trace a trail with his lips over Castiel’s jaw and down his throat, pausing at the same sensitive spot he’d nuzzled at before.

Tilting his head back, Castiel gives Dean better access, reveling in the scrape of teeth and stubble. “I take it you’re in the mood this morning?”

“Mmhm.” Dean’s mouth stays moulded to Castiel’s skin, sliding down until he’s completely under the blanket. His lips pause to tease a nipple, laving it with his tongue between nibbles. When he suckles it, Castiel moans and shifts his hips, rubbing his aching cock against Dean’s belly.

One of Dean’s hands slides up Castiel’s ribs, and catches his arm. He nudges until Castiel releases his grip on the back of Dean’s neck. “Put your hands behind your head,” he orders. His voice is muffled under the blanket, but unmistakably rough with lust. He makes a soft noise of approval when Castiel obeys.

Apparently Dean’s lack of sex drive from the night before is no longer a problem. A distant part of Castiel’s mind acknowledges that it’s a good thing, but his dick is currently in charge of his brain functions and he’s less concerned with Dean’s mental state than whatever it is he has planned for Castiel. He shifts his hips again, dragging his cock through the light dusting of hair low on Dean’s belly, earning himself another pleased growl.

The blanket lifts enough to reveal Dean’s eyes, lit by the dim light coming through the window curtains. His voice is firm, commanding. “Hold still, Cas.”

Castiel’s eyebrows pop up in response to the order. This is new. Usually Dean is squirming and begging under Castiel’s hands, but it looks like he’s intent on taking control of the situation this time.

The electric hum under Castiel’s skin intensifies, and he huffs out a breath. “Yes, sir.”

Dean’s slow smile almost breaks his resolve to do what he’s told.

The blanket drops again when Dean dips his head back down to touch Castiel’s chest. The soft kisses trail lower, the shape of Dean’s shoulders under the blanket moving down Castiel’s body. Strong hands gently stroke from his knees to his inner thighs, spreading his legs, and Castiel lets them fall open wide under Dean’s touch.

Wet heat closes over his scrotum as Dean each side into his mouth. Castiel curses softly and fists his fingers in his own hair to keep his hands right where they are. The sting on his scalp is a perfect counterpoint to the pleasure he feels as Dean mouths up his length, leaving a damp trail in the wake of his lips.

Dean’s movements tug the blanket away from Castiel’s chest, and goosebumps rise up over his newly exposed skin. He shivers just as Dean suckles the head of his cock. Keeping his eyes squeezed shut, he concentrates on not moving, on keeping his hips still instead of fucking up into the searing wet heat of Dean’s mouth. And he knows Dean is expecting him to break, because he holds Castiel’s hips down against the bed while he pays special attention to the crown of his cock without taking him any deeper.

“Dean,” he pleads hoarsely.

“Hm?” With his cock still in Dean’s mouth, the questioning sound vibrates straight through Castiel’s shaft.

“Please.” Castiel’s thighs flex, not enough to lift his hips, but he knows he’s just barely within the confines of the definition of not moving.

To Castiel’s dismay, Dean releases him rather than sucking him deeper. He sits up on his heels, throwing the comforter back and revealing himself to Castiel’s eyes. And Castiel looks his fill, his eyes lingering on the flaming star on Dean’s chest before sinking down to take in the sight of Dean’s hard cock standing firm between his thighs.

“Where’s the lube?” Dean demands.

Castiel tries to blink away the daze Dean has left him in, but it’s an effort to process the question. He tilts his head toward the table next to the bed. He watches hungrily as Dean’s muscles stretch and flex as he leans over to dig through the drawer. 

When Dean comes back with the lube, he gives Castiel a questioning look. “No condoms?” His eyes glitter with amusement and he tsks teasingly. “You would have been a terrible boy scout.”

_Fuck_ , he knew he forgot something. “I’ve been busy, and I forgot.”

Dean braces his hands on either side of Castiel’s ribs and leans down to trace Castiel’s lips with his tongue. “I was tested when I got out of the military…” A blush obscures his freckles and his eyes dart to the side. “Haven’t been with anyone but you since then.”

The idea of being inside Dean without the thin barrier of a condom between them almost short circuits his brain. “I haven’t been with anyone since--” he cuts off without mentioning his ex’s name. “--since the last time I was tested.” Which was after his divorce, so he’s definitely good to go.

Dean’s grin is almost blinding. “Awesome.”

He pecks Castiel on the lips and then surges back up and straddles Castiel’s thighs, trapping them under his hips. He uncaps the bottle of lube, and pours a liberal dollop over Castiel’s aching flesh.

Castiel bares his teeth, hissing. “Cold.”

With a smirk that’s somehow also apologetic, Dean wraps a hand around him, squeezing, stroking, warming. He watches Castiel, the smirk fading as he concentrates on what he’s doing. He randomizes his rhythm, paying special attention to every gasp and moan that escapes from Castiel’s throat, slowing to a stop whenever he seems close to the edge.

It’s maddening, and Castiel wants to reach down and take care of things himself, but his hands are still folded behind his head because Dean hasn’t told him he can move yet. He loses all sense of time, and has long since lost count of how many times Dean has nearly sent him over the edge, but he stays still other than the heaving of his chest as he tries and fails to catch his breath.

“Fuck, Dean,” he cries out as Dean’s fingers disappear just before he’s ready to come again. What he really means is _Fuck you, you goddamn prick_ , but his brain is mostly mush by now, and he can’t quite string that many words together. Especially not if he wants to put them in a correct and coherent order.

Dean’s teeth flash in a wicked grin. “Already?”

Castiel glares at him. Only the thinnest thread of willpower keeps him from surging up and wrestling Dean beneath him. “Yes! _Please,_ yes.”

Long fingers engulf his cock again, and he whimpers. Dean leans down and nips at his jaw, then speaks low and rough against his ear. “Do you wanna be inside me, sweetheart?”

Nodding, Castiel whimpers another plea for mercy. 

“Shhh…” Dean soothes as he reaches for the bottle of lube again. “That was the last time, I promise. I’m gonna let you come.” He sits up and reaches between his own legs to prep himself with lube-wet fingers.

Forgetting the cardinal rule to _not move,_ Castiel reaches to help, but when Dean growls a warning at him Castiel fists them in his hair near his temples. The tug against his scalp is not enough to calm him down, but it does center him. He grits his teeth in a lust-haze of frustration, but doesn’t otherwise complain. Instead, he watches the play of muscles across Dean’s belly as he fingers himself open.

Thank _fuck_ he doesn’t take his time at it. Dean usually doesn’t need a lot of prep, and his body has always accepted Castiel easily. He walks forward on his knees until he’s poised above Castiel, and then carefully lowers himself, hand guiding Castiel’s cock until the head presses against his hole.

They groan in unison as Dean starts to sink down, and Castiel fights the urge to close his eyes. He wants to see Dean’s reaction to Castiel’s cock spearing into him, wants to see every flutter of his lashes, and the way he bites at his bottom lip. The progress is excruciatingly slow, and he knows Dean is doing it deliberately, but soon Dean is resting his full weight on Castiel’s hips.

But he doesn’t move. His eyes are dark with lust, the green almost consumed by black as he watches Castiel intently. After what feels like an eternity but is probably only the space of a few heartbeats, he begins to move. He rocks his hips, forward and back, his own hard cock bobbing with each movement.

Castiel squeezes his fists against his temples in an effort to keep them in place, but when Dean rolls his hips in a circle, all pretense of control flies apart. He grabs Dean’s hips, squeezing his fingers into the colorfully inked scars on his injured side, and guides him to move faster and harder. Deeper isn’t an option, but he grinds up into Dean’s heat as if it were.

Dean’s hands, one still slick with lube, come to rest over Castiel’s. He grins mischievously and resists letting Castiel guide him. Any time he starts to fall into a steady rhythm and Castiel feels his orgasm tugging at his belly Dean changes his movements. And the asshat actually laughs when Castiel starts swearing.

“You’re enjoying this aren’t you?” Castiel grinds out between clenched teeth as Dean clenches his muscles around him.

“And you aren’t?” His grin is unrepentant. But there’s a hitch in his breath, and Castiel knows he isn’t as unaffected as he’s trying to act.

“You said you’d let me come.”

“I will, sweetheart, I promise.” 

The ‘eventually’ is very loudly unspoken.

Narrowing his eyes in calculation, Castiel decides some revenge is in order. He moves one of his hands from Dean’s hip and wraps it around his cock instead. It had softened slightly while Dean teased him, but it responds quickly to Castiel’s touch. And he’s rewarded with a filthy moan, and a full body twitch as Dean loses his rhythm.

It doesn’t take them long to get back into sync though. Dean rides Castiel hard, grinding down and forward. Castiel concentrates on giving Dean back a little of his own medicine by teasing him with uneven strokes.

Dean braces one hand behind him on Castiel’s thigh, and the other on Castiel’s belly, and he _finally_ begins fucking like he means it. He lets out a low groan that might be Castiel’s name just as his cock twitches in Castiel’s fist. His inner muscles ripple, and heat splashes over Castiel’s fist and belly, but Castiel barely notices as his own orgasm crests. His hips rise up off the bed, in an involuntary attempt to bury himself as deep as possible in his lover’s body.

Collapsing forward, Dean settles his face in the crook of Castiel’s neck. His breath saws in and out of his lungs, cooling the sweat beading on Castiel’s skin. Trying to calm his own breath, Castiel wraps his arms around Dean and shifts him, moving until they’re lying side by side, face to face.

“Love it when you manhandle me,” Dean mumbles. He tips his chin forward, pressing his lips against Castiel’s in a series of small, gentle kisses. His eyes had drifted shut and he looks like he might want to go back to sleep.

Castiel leans into the kisses. “I love that you let me.”

Wiggling to make himself more comfortable makes their bellings rub together, smearing Dean’s come between them, and Dean makes a face. “You’re going to need clean sheets.”

“I’ve got spares,” Castiel assures him before capturing his mouth again.

They make out until Castiel’s lips tingle, his heart swells to overflowing with love. He’s so damn grateful that Dean is here, that Dean is _his._

“What do you think the chances are that Jo slept through that,” Dean asks much much later when Castiel finally releases his lips.

The primal urge to fuck Dean again, hard and rough until he’s hoarse from screaming, rises in Castiel’s chest. To make it clear to the entire condo complex who Dean belongs to. He’s surprised at the possessive thought, but only chuckles at himself. “These walls aren’t that thin, but you were kinda loud there at the end.”

“Wasn’t just me this time,” Dean teases. He presses his forehead against Castiel’s and sighs. “I don’t suppose we can just stay here like this all day, can we?”

Castiel echoes his sigh. “I’m needed at the office today, and I want to see my parents this afternoon.” He nudges his nose against Dean’s. “Do you want to come meet them?”

Dean’s body goes rigid, his eyes wide and vulnerable. “Really?”

Huffing a laugh, Castiel tries to calm him with a soft stroke along the rippled scars of his flank. “You didn’t think I’d let you get away without meeting them now that you’re here, did you?”

“I wasn’t sure.” Dean’s eyes are shadowed and dark, and Castiel has a hard time reading his expression from this close, but his uncertainty is clear in his tone.

“Of course I do.” Castiel nudges Dean’s feet with his own. “It’s a bit of a drive to their place. Are you up for going out?”

Dean considers him for a moment. “I think so, yeah.” He shrugs. “I can take my meds if I start to feel off.”

Castiel’s heart twists painfully at the reminder that something as simple as driving across town can be such a huge ordeal for Dean. “You don’t have to if it’s too much.”

“Thanks, Cas, but I’m good.” 

He sounds sure of himself, and he’s already done so well, that Castiel believes him. He presses one last hard kiss against Dean’s lips to let him know how proud he is, then sighs when he pulls away. “Alright, the sooner I get into the office, the sooner I can leave and we can spend the rest of the day together.”

Dean nods, but he still seems reluctant to let Castiel disentangle himself to get out of bed.

“Well?” Castiel flips on the bathroom light and stands in the doorway looking back at Dean who is still sprawled in the bed. “Are you gonna join me in the shower?”

That gets Dean moving. Castiel grins at his enthusiasm, and steps aside so Dean can precede him into the bathroom. His eyes drop to Dean’s ass, because it’s there in all its glory for him to enjoy. When he sees a line of come and lube sliding down Dean’s thighs, the primal part of him that had gotten possessive earlier purrs back to life at the sight.

“What?” Dean asks when he catches Castiel’s expression in the mirror.

Castiel catches Dean around the waist and nuzzles against his neck. “Nothing. I’m just glad you’re here.” He grins. “Morning breath and all.”

Dean rolls his eyes, but he’s grinning too.

Once they’re showered and dressed they discover, to their delight, that they’ve got the condo to themselves. There’s a note taped to the outside of the bedroom door.

_Hey guys, you probably need a lot of alone time, and I don’t want to be a third wheel. Charlie’s got a pull out couch, and has offered to show me around the city for a few days. You two have fun!_

_PS: I think she likes me. Wish me luck!_

From where he’s pressed against Castiel’s back, Dean chuckles as he reads the note over his shoulder. “Is Charlie into chicks?”

“She’s _so_ lesbian,” Castiel confirms. “And I’m pretty sure I saw the sparks fly as soon as she laid eyes on Jo.”

Dean laughs again. “Go get her, Joanna Beth.”

They are just settling in to start breakfast--Corn Pops, which Castiel picked up specifically for Dean as soon as he’d bought his plane ticket to Boston--when there’s a knock at the door.

Castiel frowns at the door in confusion. It’s still kind of early, and he isn’t expecting anyone. He shrugs at Dean’s raised eyebrow and goes to answer the knock.

Hannah is just raising her hand to knock again when Castiel opens the door. She looks up at him in relief, apparently not noticing the way he stiffens as soon as he sees her. “Castiel, I’m glad you’re up. Can we talk?”

She seems briefly surprised to see that he’s fully dressed, but doesn’t say anything about it as she waits for him to let her in. She knows he isn’t a morning person, and probably assumed she could ambush him while he’s not fully awake. There’s no way for her to know that he has been sleeping with a human alarm clock so he’s up earlier than normal. He wants to tell her that, to rub it in her face that he’s moved on, but he refrains. He’s never deliberately nasty to anyone, and Hannah hasn’t done anything to deserve that kind of treatment. 

Recently.

With a sigh, he opens the door wider and gestures for her to come in.

She unbuttons her heavy winter coat as she walks further into the condo. “I’m sorry to show up so early. I just really needed to talk to you in private, and I didn’t want to have this discussion in the office. I--” She stops abruptly when she sees Dean sitting at the kitchen island. “Oh. I… didn’t know you had a guest.”

Dean’s bright green eyes rest on Hannah for a moment before they turn to Castiel. He quirks a questioning brow. 

Wishing he could rewind the clock and be back in bed with Dean again, Castiel places a hand on Hannah’s shoulder. “Dean, this is Hannah.” He turns his attention to her, and finds her frowning at Dean in deep confusion. “Hannah, this is Dean. My boyfriend.”

He feels her stiffen under his hand, and she shoots him an incredulous look. “Your… I’m sorry?”

Dean gives him a look that’s part amusement, part exasperation, and maybe a sliver of relief. Had he thought Castiel would want to keep their relationship a secret? But he hides it behind a polite mask, and stands, holding out a hand to Hannah. “Hey there, Hannah. It’s nice to meet you.”

She looks down at his hand, then back up at his face. She finally allows him to take her hand in his. “Um, hello.”

Well this isn’t awkward at all. Castiel rubs a hand over his mouth in an attempt to wipe away his humor. It would be rude to laugh. “What do you want to talk about that can’t wait until we’re at the office?”

Her attention jerks back to him, and her eyes are wide and nervous. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come here.”

She turns to leave, but Castiel catches her elbow before she can escape. “No, it’s okay. Let’s talk.” She’s here, so they might as well get this over with, whatever it is. He sends Dean a questioning look.

“I can give you two some privacy,” Dean says briskly. “Cas, there’s a coffee shop just down the block, right? I think I saw it when we were driving in last night.”

Worry kicks up in Castiel’s chest. “Are you--will you be--?

Dean’s features soften into a fond smile that is both lovely and reassuring. “It’s just a coffee shop, Cas. I’ll be fine.”

If he says he’ll be alright, then Castiel won’t argue. “Why don’t you grab my coat? It’s a lot colder out there than what you’re used to.”

He’s rewarded with another smile, even warmer than the last.

Dean slips into the bedroom and comes out wearing Castiel’s leather jacket. It looks good on him despite being a little bit short in the sleeves. Dean tucks his hands in the pockets and pulls out a ring of keys. “I assume the house key’s on here?” When Castiel confirms with a nod, Dean snaps them back into his palm and shoves his hand back in the pocket. He pointedly doesn’t look at Hannah as he steps into Castiel’s personal space and gives him a soft kiss. His eyes are serious when he lifts his head. “I’ve got my phone on me. Text me.”

He leaves it unsaid that he’ll wait until Hannah is gone. Castiel smiles at him gratefully and watches him leave. The leather jacket looks damn good stretched across Dean’s broad shoulders, and it’s hard to pull his eyes away.

When the door shuts behind Dean, Castiel takes a fortifying breath and turns to Hannah. “Alright, let’s talk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tagged this that they switch, but Dean is such a power bottom in this story lol... they _do_ switch... off screen.... lol


	29. Chapter 29

Dean is halfway down the hall before he realizes that he probably should have taken a pill before he left. He turns back, but stops just short of opening the door. Curling his fingers away from the knob, he hesitates. The situation with Hannah is already uncomfortable enough without him popping his head back in to grab his meds. He stands in the hall, uncertainty making him shift from foot to foot for a long moment. Eventually he shrugs, and turns away. 

He can go without for now. It’s just a coffee shop. He has no idea how long Cas and Hannah will need to work out whatever it is she’s there for, but if he gets too antsy he can come straight back. 

Taking a fortifying breath, he tries to drum up some excitement for seeing even a tiny part of a new place. It’s been a long time since he’s been in a big city, and just the idea of going outside makes his heartbeat tick up in an unpleasant way. But he can just find a dark corner in the coffee shop and distract himself by texting Jo and pestering her about the way she blushed and giggled around Charlie.

He chuckles at the memory of how cute they are with each other. He’s glad he brought her, for his own sake yes, she’s been a balm to his frazzled nerves during the hours of travel, calming him down when his meds weren’t quite doing the job. But also because she’s obviously having a great time on this trip. And she’s already made a new friend, if not something more. 

It’s probably a good thing she made herself scarce this morning though. He doesn’t think she’d be cool with Hannah showing up out of the blue, because she gets a little bit mama bear over the people she cares about, and he’s very firmly on that list. 

But then again, the idea of watching her punch Castiel’s ex wife makes him feel entirely too gleeful. So it’s also a damn good idea to make himself scarce for a little while.

As soon as he’d realized who the dark haired woman was, his temper had flared. He has enough self control to tamp the possessiveness down before she or Cas noticed though. Castiel might understand, but Hannah seemed a little on the timid side, eyeing him warily. For a moment after they met she’d looked like she wanted to turn right back around and walk out. 

The last thing he needs to do is be a dick and give her a bad impression of him. Especially if she’s still on good terms with Castiel’s parents. He doesn’t know Hannah, and doesn’t trust her not to carry exaggerated tales of brutish behavior back to them.

As he rides the elevator down to the building’s lobby, he wonders what it was about Hannah that originally caught Castiel’s attention. What is it about her that made him fall in love and marry her? She’s beautiful, in a quiet, mousy way, and with her dark hair and blue eyes Dean knows she and Cas would have had beautiful babies together if they ever got around to it. But he assumes there’s more to her than a pretty face, since Castiel isn’t shallow. He’d be attracted to someone with depth and substance. 

Some of his animosity toward Hannah fades. If she’s the kind of person that Castiel wanted to spend his life with, then Dean has to assume she’s a good person. Maybe just a little bit stupid, for letting such a good thing slip through her fingers.

But if she’s got plans to get Castiel back, she’s going to have a fight on her hands. Dean has staked his claim, displaying it to her with that kiss before he left.

He smirks at the thought as he walks out of the building. But his smile drops immediately at the sight of the crowded sidewalks. A jolt of panic freezes him in place. He closes his eyes and counts slowly, forward and backward, taking deep breaths and blowing them out slowly, until he no longer feels like bolting back inside. Again he considers going back upstairs to get his meds, but at this point it would be even more awkward. He’s been gone long enough that Castiel and Hannah’s talk, whatever it’s about, is probably in full swing.

As curious as he is about what Hannah wanted, he doesn’t want to make matters worse by interrupting.

Still counting silently, he scans the street. His gaze catches on the coffee shop sign on the corner across the street. Coffee, yes. He’ll get some coffee--decaf, in deference to his nerves.

With a pre-determined destination, Dean’s feet start moving automatically. He keeps his head bowed, watching the pavement as it disappears under his shoes instead of risking a look at the faces of the strangers around him. 

It’s going great, until he bumps into someone, and he glances up to apologize.

Dar, serious eyes regard Dean sadly.

“Kevin?” Dean whispers.

In a blink Kevin is gone, and the stranger he’d bumped into slips past him without acknowledging him. 

Shivering, Dean tugs Castiel’s coat closer around his throat. He drops his gaze back to the ground and starts walking again. Of course it wasn’t Kevin. The last time Dean had seen him, he was staring sightlessly at the sky, his expression already gone lax in death.

Kevin had been telling Dean about his last call with his mother when all hell broke loose, noise and fire exploding around them.

Only Dean had survived that day, but just barely. And ever since he’d come home, he’d seen the faces of his squad in crowds of strangers, all watching him sadly. As if he should have joined them, and they were only waiting for him.

On really bad days, he can hear them calling his name.

It’s why he’d come home to Purgatory. Where the spirits of his lost friends didn’t haunt him through the familiar faces of friends and family.

Concentrating on his breathing and keeping his eyes focused on the ground gets him to the coffee shop without any more incidents, but he’s shaking from more than the cold by the time he slips inside. Unfortunately the place is kind of busy, but he’s come too far to retreat now. Especially with the scent of fresh roasted beans thick in the air. 

Still silently counting, he joins the end of the line. He keeps his gaze down until he reaches the counter.

The young woman behind the counter looks bored as hell, until she gets a good look at him and her eyes go wide. He can’t help a flirty smile. He knows he’s hot stuff, but it’s been a while since he’s received a genuine double take. He’d forgotten how flattering it is to be noticed by complete strangers.

She’s beet red the whole time she takes his order, and just to be a bastard he winks at her before he walks away to wait for his order. The poor thing practically squeaks, and he chuckles once his back is turned. It’s probably not very nice of him to fluster the poor girl, but teasing her does help take his mind off his anxiety for a few minutes.

After he collects his order--herbal tea instead of coffee, and a couple chocolate donuts with bacon (BACON!) sprinkles--he scans the shop until he finds an empty table. He settles down and before he does anything else, he tries the donut. He moans at the salty sweetness on his tongue, and thinks he might move to Boston just to have one of these sinful treats at least once a day. 

“Jesus, that’s good,” he mumbles around his second bite as he pulls out his phone and shoots off a text to Jo.

_Did you know that you can get bacon sprinkles on chocolate donuts?_

The answer comes quicker than he expects. _No shit??? I gotta try that!_

She really does. Fuck, goddamn, they’re good. He’s going to have to order another one before he leaves. _I’d get you one, but I’m not sure when I’m ever going to see you again._

Her response makes him snort a laugh. _I want to keep her. Can I keep her?_

He taps out a reply with one thumb as he sips at his tea. _Charlie’s not a kitten. You can’t put a collar on her and bring her home._

_I like that idea way too much. You don’t even know._

Rolling his eyes fondly, he responds _Pervert._

_Guilty! What are you doing?_

Knowing how protective Jo can get, he decides to keep what’s happening back at Castiel’s place on the downlow for now. _Coffee and donuts. You going to be gone all day?_

_Charlie invited me to stay at her place. You and Cas can bang like bunnies without me there to interrupt._

He grins. _You’re my best friend._

They text for a few more minutes, coordinating their plans for this trip. Thursday is Thanksgiving, and Castiel had already said they were both welcome to his family’s celebration. And then Jo’s planning on leaving Friday evening. Dean’s own plan is to stay as long as Castiel will have him.

“My goodness, you’re much more handsome in person.”

Dean startles and looks up from his phone to see a very petite redhead smiling at him. He’d been distracted by his conversation with Jo, and the back of his neck prickles when he realizes this woman snuck up on him unnoticed. His brain short circuits for a few beats, and he probably looks like an idiot blinking up at her with a mouth full of donut while he tries to parse what she’d said to him.

Her smile fades into a concerned expression. “Are you alright, dearie?” 

When he realizes he’s holding his breath, he lets it out in a rush. “Uh, yeah.” His tongue feels thick and uncooperative. “You just startled me. Do I know you?”

Her smile returns, and he’s struck by the fanciful thought that she looks like a fairy with her sharp features and masses of curly red hair. He’s tempted to reach out and test if the curls are as bouncy as they look. “It depends on how much my dear Castiel has told you about me.” She holds out a hand with perfectly manicured nails painted to match her clothing. She speaks with a thick Scottish brogue, which seems less out of place in Boston than he’d expect. “I am Rowena McLeod. Castiel and I are friends, and he’s told me so much about you.” 

Understanding dawns and Dean smiles, gesturing at the empty chair across from him in invitation. “Yeah he has told me about you. How did you recognize me?”

She settles herself primly in the chair. “When the boy wouldn’t stop gushing over you, I asked for pictures.” Her smile turns catlike. “And I must say… I can certainly see why he’s so enamored.”

Something about the way she’s looking at him makes him blush in a way that he hasn’t since probably high school. “Thanks,” he mumbles. “Cas can be kind of a shutterbug sometimes.”

“With the right model, I’m sure he can.” 

Blushing even harder, Dean attempts to hide his reaction to her admiration in his mug of tea. It works… a little bit. “So, how did you find me?” he asks when he lowers his drink.

“Oh very simple, really. I have Castiel’s house bugged.” She lifts her coffee to her lips, expression neutral.

Dean stiffens in his seat. “Really?”

She only manages to hold the blank mask for a second before a tinkle of delighted laughter breaks free. “No, of course not. I found you quite by accident, I assure you.” She lifts her coffee to bring it to his attention. “I’m here for this. I live nearby, and Castiel and I often met here before he moved away.” She tilts her head questioningly. “Where is the dear boy? I quite miss him.”

Having her acknowledge openly that Castiel has actually moved, and that Purgatory isn’t just a temporary home for him settles something in Dean’s chest, and he decides he likes Rowena. Even if she puts off level twenty cougar vibes. But the reminder of where Castiel is right now dims his smile. “He’s back at his place, talking to Hannah.”

Rowena’s brows pop up, and she hums thoughtfully. “Well the timing is abysmal, but that is a conversation that should certainly be had.”

“What do you mean?” He shifts in his seat and glances at the door, wondering if he shouldn’t have left them alone.

It opens, and Cain walks in.

Dean blinks hard, and the man’s image shifts. Just a stranger, not his old CO. He quickly turns back to Rowena, hoping she doesn’t notice his unease. “Do you know what she wants with Cas?”

If she noticed, she doesn’t give any sign of it. She purses her lips for a moment before she answers. “I hope they’re having a good loud fight, to be honest. It’s long overdue.”

That surprises a laugh out of him. “Oh really?”

She gives him a solemn nod, and leans forward like she’s imparting a piece of juicy gossip. “Those two have a tendency to keep everything bottled up. Maybe if they’d yelled at each other a bit more during their marriage it wouldn’t have ended.” She shrugs as she sits back again. “Not that I believe they _should_ have stayed together, of course. There was a rift in their relationship that may not ever be mended, even if they did love each other.”

Something twists in Dean’s chest, and he stares at the mug clenched tightly between his hands. If it were a To Go cup, he probably would have accidentally crushed it. “Do you think if they work it out…?” he can’t finish the thought. It makes him sick to think of losing Castiel now.

Delicate fingers brush his knuckles. Rowena’s smile is gentle, and almost maternal when he looks up at her. “No dearie, I don’t think that will happen. I think Castiel still cares for Hannah, and he always will because he’s a big softie. But things are different now. He loves you.”

“He hasn’t said so,” Dean mumbles, then grimaces at himself for admitting that out loud. He doesn’t know Rowena at all, but she’s very easy to talk to.

“Have you told him you love him?” she asks.

Dean averts his gaze again, absently taking in their surroundings. The shop is starting to empty out a little bit now that the morning rush has ended. There are still more strangers than he’s comfortable with, and he quickly drops his gaze to his hands. 

“Not yet,” he concedes. He chuckles, and some of the tension eases from his limbs. “Somewhere I got it in my head that it needs to be the ‘perfect moment’,” he catches himself using airquotes and drops his hands back down to his mug, “and I just haven’t found it yet.”

She laughs at him. When he peeks up at her, she shakes her head in fond exasperation. “He’s probably doing the same thing. ONe of you will need to take the leap and just say it.” Her expression turns serious, even though her lips are still curved in a smile. “Lack of communication has a habit of coming back to bite you in the ass.”

He snorts. “Yeah, I know.”

He isn’t going to lose Castiel over something silly like not letting him know how much he’s loved. That’s how Hannah fucked up, and Dean won’t make that same mistake.

“You’re a pretty good shrink, you know that?” he says with a grin.

She gives him a regal bow of her head. “It’s what I do.”

Oh he likes her. No wonder Castiel counts her as a friend. She’s flirty, and sees a little too much but--

A crash echoes through the shop, breaking through the peaceful buzz of conversations. The distinct sound of shattering glass stabs through Dean’s brain, and in the heartbeat of silence that normally follows an unexpected commotion like that, he sees that another customer’s child had knocked down a display holding coffee mugs. 

Time stretches in his mind, and in that eternal emptiness the anxiety and panic that he’s been holding at bay since he left Purgatory bursts free of the cage he’d created for it in his mind. The shop around him disappears, only to be replaced with the abandoned street in a village in Afghanistan.

The sound of people talking and laughing at how startled they’d been by the accident morphs into screams and explosions and gunfire and frantic calls for help in Dean’s ears. The aroma of roasting coffee beans and sweet pastries becomes smoke, dirt, sweat, and blood clogging Dean’s nostrils.

“Dean, are you alright?”

The voice comes from far away, and he doesn’t recognize it. He only knows that the threat is too close, and he doesn’t have a weapon in his hands. He lashes out, at the same time lunging away, overturning the table and chair as he scrambles for safety and shelter.

Voices raised in confusion only add to the clamor in his brain, and he sinks further into the nightmare.

* * *

As soon as the door clicks shut behind Dean, Hannah spins around and pins Castiel with an incredulous look. “Your _boyfriend?”_

Well now Castiel doesn’t have to wonder anymore what his mother has been telling Hannah about him. Obviously none of the important information. He crosses his arms over his chest and leans a hip against the kitchen island. His answer is simple. “Yes.”

It takes a little bit of the wind out of her sails. If she expected him to get defensive about it, she’s going to be in for a lot of disappointment. “So… you’re gay now?” Her eyes go wide with hurt. “Have you always been?”

He has to invest a supreme amount of effort to not roll his eyes. “I’m not gay, Hannah.”

“But--”

He cuts her off with a wave of his hand. His initial irritation over her barging into his home for this confrontation flares higher. “And before you ask, no I was not faking any of our time together. Yes, I loved having sex with you.”

Her mouth snaps shut, and she gives him a perturbed look. “You seem to have all the answers before I know what to ask.”

A tiny tingle of guilt for snapping at her makes his hackles lie back down. “I’m sorry, Hannah. I just don’t like having this conversation. It’s not the first time, and it always drives me crazy.” He smiles ruefully. “The last time was an ex-boyfriend getting upset with me when he learned I was dating you. He wanted to know if I was faking it with him too.”

Hannah blinks as she tries to absorb that information. “You dated a man before me? How come you never told me?”

She looks so genuinely confused that Castiel snorts a laugh. It’s unkind, but if he doesn’t laugh, he’ll get angry again. He truly wishes he could understand what it feels like to only be attracted to one gender, so on a very basic level he kind of gets why both the straights and the gays are confused by his sexuality. But mostly he feels sorry for them. And himself, because he keeps needing to have this conversation whenever anyone finds out he’s bisexual. Thank god Dean understands. 

“You never asked. And my past lovers weren’t relevant because I was with you, and that was all that mattered to me at the time.” When she still stares at him in bafflement, he adds, “I’m bisexual, Hannah. I am attracted to both men, and women. But I loved you, and you were the only person I wanted.”

It hurts a little bit to say those words in the past tense.

And she catches the significance. “‘Loved’? So you don’t love me anymore?”

With a sigh, he looks away. His eyes land on the empty bowls and the box of Corn Pops sitting on the island. He didn’t have a chance to share breakfast with Dean before their morning together was interrupted, and it makes his chest ache that Dean felt the need to escape this conversation. Although he completely understands, and wishes he could escape it as well. 

He doesn’t want to think about the times he and Hannah had sat together at breakfast. About how she insisted they keep a subscription to the newspaper even though he preferred to read online, but she always made sure to pull out the funny pages for him. And about how the quiet between them was peaceful and somehow affirming. He doesn’t want to think about how he still loves her, and there’s a piece of his heart that will always belong to her. 

But that love has faded from deeply romantic to simply platonic. He cares about her very much, but only as much as he cares about any of his close friends. “Not like that,” he admits quietly. 

Not the way he loves Dean now.

“Oh.”

He turns back to see her looking down at her fingers as she twists them together in front of her. It gives him a pang of nostalgia over the familiar gesture. “Is that what you wanted to talk about?” he asks gently.

She nods, but doesn’t say anything for a moment. He waits for her, but the silence stretches between them, and he doesn’t think she’s going to say anything if he doesn’t. And since she’s here, he decides to ask questions that he’d been afraid to voice before now. “Hannah? Why did you leave me?”

Her head lifts, but she still doesn’t quite meet his eyes. “You killed that man.”

“It was self defense,” he reminds her. “And an accident. Why do you act like I’m a cold blooded murderer?”

“Because you scared me, Castiel!” she snaps. Her eyes fill with tears, but for once she lifts her chin and meets his gaze. “I’d never seen that side of you before. I know you were a cop, but… I don’t know, somehow it just never seemed real until…” she trails off and her chin drops. “I was scared, and I didn’t know how to handle it. So I handled badly.”

Anger, long dormant, rages awake inside of him. “No shit.”

“Don’t be a jerk.” She pins him with a watery glare. “You also turned into a drug addict right before my eyes.”

“I was in pain, Hannah.” Castiel throws his hands up in frustration. She takes a timid step back, and he realizes he’s looming, so he forces himself to lean back against the counter again. But he isn’t going to let this go without giving her a piece of his mind. “I was hurting, and I was confused, and you weren’t talking to me which made everything worse. So yeah, I got blissed out on pills, because it made me feel better. And you never said anything. You _just left._ ” 

Shame flashes across her features. “I told you I didn’t know how to handle what was happening. And after a while a divorce seemed like the best option.” She lifted her chin defiantly. “And when you didn’t fight it, I assumed you didn’t want me anymore either.”

“Oh of course, divorce is a much better option than, I don’t know, couple’s therapy?” He barks a laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “What was the point of fighting you on it when you didn’t seem interested in fighting for us at all?”

A tear slips down her cheek, and she looks away. “I’m sorry. I wish I’d done things differently.”

All the rage drains out of him, leaving him weary. A craving tingles at the base of his throat, but for once his mind doesn’t immediately supply the image of an orange pill bottle. He just wishes Dean were here for him to lean on. 

He settles down on one of the stools, and kicks the other one out in a silent invitation for her to take a seat as well. She looks at him uncertainly for a moment before she accepts, perching on the edge of the stool. Neither of them says anything for a few minutes as they consider each other.

Hannah breaks the silence, and she speaks softly enough that Castiel has to lean closer to hear her. “When I heard you had overdosed… it brought a lot of things home to me. I realized that I almost lost you, and it was my fault, and--”

“Hey, no.” Castiel closes the space between them and wraps her in his arms. She fits against him perfectly, just as she always had. “It wasn’t just your fault. We both handled things poorly, and the drugs were _my_ mistake, not yours.”

She begins to shake in his arms, and more tears slip down her cheeks, soaking his t-shirt. “When I came to see you in the hospital they wouldn’t let me in because I wasn’t family anymore. I had to wait until your parents gave me permission, and I was so scared that you would die before I had a chance to tell you that I’m sorry and I still love you.” She hiccups a few times before she can continue. “And then you disappeared without a word to anyone, and I still didn’t get a chance to tell you.”

Castiel holds her tighter. It’s entirely possible that if they’d had this conversation while he was in the hospital that he would have accepted the apology and taken her back. But she hadn’t been there when he woke up, and he checked himself out immediately, despite the protests from his mother and the doctors. 

But he thinks that even if he’d taken her back, it wouldn’t have worked out. There was too much built up pain and anger, and he suspects it was probably too late for marriage counseling. At least for him. 

When he doesn’t say anything, she takes a ragged breath and looks up at him with wide, pleading eyes. “We could try again. I still love you.”

Even though he knew it was coming, her offer still makes him sigh wearily. It’s far too late. “I love you too, Hannah. I always will. But not that way anymore.”

She searches his face, and whatever she finds makes her wilt under his gaze. “And you don’t want to try again. Is it because of Dean?”

“He’s a really big part of it,” he tells her with full honesty. “I’m in love with him, and I love Purgatory. When I’m there it feels like home.” He thumbs the tears from her cheeks, and presses a kiss against her forehead. “We had our time together, Hannah, but it’s over now. I’ve moved on, and you should too.”

The bridge of her nose bumps his chin when she nods. “I wish…”

“I know.”

Her arms slip around his waist and they hold each other. When she finally pulls away she has to wipe more tears from her face, but she gives him a tremulous smile. “I’m sorry I barged in here on you like this. We’re probably late for work.”

Smiling, Castiel gets up to get her a paper towel to clean her face with. “If they can’t handle a few hours without the boss around, you should probably fire them.”

“One of them is your _mother_ ,” she admonishes as she accepts the napkin.

“Fire her first.” They both laugh, and it destroys the lingering tension between them.

“Does this mean we can be friends?” she asks hopefully.

“As long as Dean is okay with it, I think that’s possible.” He smiles gently. “But he’s got dibs on my affections.”

“He makes you happy?”

He smiles fondly. “We have our moments.” Typically when Dean is pestering him to take his meds, but won’t take his own for a shopping trip in Crossroads. “But yes. He makes me very happy.”

Humor twinkles in Hannah’s eyes. “He’s very handsome.”

Warmth suffuses his cheeks. “I like him for more than his looks.” Although he won’t deny they’re a bonus. Sometimes he looks at Dean and wonders how someone so radiantly beautiful not only wasn’t snapped up by someone before Castiel found him, but also looks at Castiel like he’s worthy of even a few rays of Dean’s sunshine. “He’s a Star Wars nerd who loves cats, and he can sing and fix cars, and--”

He’s interrupted when his phone rings. Giving Hannah an apologetic look, he pulls it from his pocket to answer it. He’s surprised to see that it’s Rowena, and decides that if she’s calling him it’s probably important enough not to send to voicemail. “Hello?”

“Castiel, you must come quick. To the coffee shop.”

He frowns at the urgency in her voice. “What?”

“It’s Dean. He’s having a panic attack, and I’m not able to get through to the poor man. The manager has called an ambulance, but it’s probably best if you get down here too.”

Castiel is already moving toward the door. He doesn’t waste any time asking why she’s with Dean or what set off his attack. “Look in his pockets. Does he have a bottle of pills?”

“I’m not sure. I can’t get close to him.”

He swears softly and reverses direction, barely missing running into Hannah as he heads for the bedroom to check Dean’s luggage for his pills. “Just talk to him, Rowena. He needs to know he’s not alone. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

“What’s going on?” Hannah asks from the bedroom door as she watches him dig through Dean’s bag. Her eyes widen when she sees him pull out the orange bottle of pills. “What’s that for?”

Ignoring the fact that she still doesn’t trust him around drugs, he shoves the bottle in his pocket and herds her out of the room ahead of him. “Dean is having a panic attack, and these are his meds.”

When she realizes he’s leaving, she grabs her coat, pulling it on as she follows him. She doesn’t ask any more questions, but she stays glued to his heels as he rushes down the hall toward the elevator. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm kinda rushing because I want to try and finish this by Friday. I've got 1 more chapter, and an epilogue to go. But I've also got all of Thursday and Friday off, so we'll see how this goes XD


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, so I finished writing the story today, and my brain wants it to show up as finished in 2020 in my stats page, so I'm posting both chapters tonight. The epilogue is coming right after this! Happy New Year ;D

Moving as close to a flat out run as he can while dodging people on the streets, Castiel makes it to the coffee shop in record time. Breathing hard from the exertion he shoulders his way through the other patrons standing around gawking at Rowena as she tries to coax Dean out of the corner he’d backed himself into. Seeing Dean makes his already elevated heart rate turn into painful thumps under his sternum. He’s crouched with his shoulders pressed against the wall, flinching at every sound. 

Castiel has never seen him sink so deep into his panic before, and it’s terrifying to see.

A few feet away, Rowena is crouched down, talking softly, but Dean doesn’t appear to hear her. She startles when Castiel puts a hand on her shoulder, but her expression floods with relief when she looks up at him. “Castiel, thank goodness you’re here.”

“See if you can get them to disperse.” Castiel jerks his head at the gawkers, but doesn’t take his eyes off Dean. “I'll talk to him.”

“The ambulance should be here soon,” she says. Casting a sympathetic glance at Dean, she murmurs an encouraging “you’ll be alright, dearie. Castiel will take good care of you.”

Castiel appreciates the vote of confidence, although he’s not sure what he can do that a professional therapist can’t. He just hopes that he can make progress calming Dean down before the paramedics arrive.

Going down on one knee a little bit closer than Rowena had been, Castiel tries to put himself in Dean’s line of sight. It works; Dean stares back at him with wary green eyes. “Dean, I brought your medication.”

Panting as if he’s the one who just ran a block and a half to get here, Dean searches his face as if he’s trying to place how he knows him. He doesn’t speak, he doesn’t move, and Castiel takes the latter as a small blessing. He’s never seen Dean in this state, but through conversations he’s had with Sam and Jo he’s pieced together an idea of just how bad it can get for him. If Dean isn’t lashing out, then that’s a good sign.

He shuffles a little closer, talking softly. “Do you know where you are, Dean?”

Head twitching as if a loud sound had startled him, Dean frowns. “Cas?”

Hearing his name makes Castiel feel weak with relief. “Yes, Dean. It’s me.”

“I’m… I’m not…” Dean grimaces and presses the heels of his hands against his forehead. “I need to go home, Cas.”

“I know. I’ll get you home.” He hopes that his condo will be a good enough substitute for Dean’s usual safe spaces. Digging out Dean’s prescription, he opens the bottle and shakes one out into his palm. “I just need you to calm down a little bit. Will you take one of these for me?”

Dean stiffens when Castiel stretches his hand too close. He drops his hands, and pushes his shoulders back into the wall, but his eyes drop to Castiel’s outstretched palm. Very slowly, he reaches out and takes the pill. He pops it into his mouth and chews before swallowing. Castiel’s lips twist. That had to taste like shit. But at least Dean is responding to him, and is aware that the medication will help. Chewing it will make it kick in a few minutes faster.

A siren blips outside and colored lights flash through the wall of windows at the front of the shop, announcing the arrival of the ambulance. Dean flinches back against the wall, and lets out a noise that makes Castiel think of a wounded animal. Taking the opportunity the distraction gives him, he scoots a little closer and takes one of Dean’s hands. There’s no resistance, and he sighs his relief.

He starts massaging Dean’s fingers, whispering encouragement. Behind him, Rowena is talking to the paramedics, hopefully explaining the delicacy of the situation.

From the corner of his eye, Castiel sees one of the paramedics approach, cautiously crouching down at Castiel’s side. “Do you know if he has any allergies?” he asks quietly. 

Dean’s eyes flick to him, and he suddenly grips Castiel’s hand tight. 

“None that I know of, but I’ve already given him his medication. It hasn’t had time to kick in yet.”

“Do you know the dosage?”

Castiel hands the bottle over and the paramedic checks the label before handing it back. He opens the case he brought with him, and takes out a syringe and a bottle of clear fluid. He fills it carefully, and then returns his attention to Dean. “Hello, my name is Max and I’m here to help you. Can you tell me your name?”

Dean’s eyes snap to Max, and his jaw works for a moment before he manages to grind out an answer to the question.

Holding up the syringe where Dean can see it, Max says “I know you’ve already taken something, and if you just want us to sit here and make sure you’re okay, I’m totally cool with that. But I’ve got something here that might help you relax. May I give it to you?”

Dean’s grip on Castiel’s fingers becomes almost painful, but he doesn’t pull away. His eyes flick between Max, the needle, then come to settle on Castiel. He stares hard as if Castiel is the only thing keeping him anchored to the present, and nods jerkily.

“Can you pull off your coat for me?” Max’s voice is deep and soothing, and he doesn’t make a move. His patience is rewarded when Dean shifts and slips one arm free of his coat. Still without releasing his grip on Castiel’s hand. Max moves slowly and steadily, telegraphing each motion clearly as he swabs a spot on Dean’s arm and then administers the shot.

The whole time, Dean stares at Castiel. “I’m sorry,” he says roughly. “I can’t get out of my own head.”

“It’s okay,” Castiel reassures him. He continues to rub Dean’s hand, even though it’s clenched tightly around his own. “It’s not your fault.”

The shot kicks in quickly. Dean’s grip loosening gradually, and his posture becoming less tight. His words are a soft mumble when he speaks. “I know.”

Max watches Dean for a moment to make sure the shot is working. “Do you feel like you need to go to the hospital, Dean?”

Despite the relaxing effects of the shot, Dean’s body goes taught again. “No.”

“He will probably be fine if he’s in a safe and familiar place. My house is just down the block,” Castiel tells Max. “If you don’t think he needs to see a doctor, I can get him there.”

Max nods, but directs his next question to Dean. “May I check your pulse?”

Dean allows Max to come close enough to give him a short exam. “Well, I think you’ll be okay, Dean. But you’re going to be a bit wobbly in another minute or two. Do you need my help getting home?”

Castiel is strong, but Dean is big. When Dean casts him a questioning look, he nods his agreement. “It’s probably a good idea.”

Letting out a shuddering sigh Dean leans forward. Castiel takes the opportunity to wrap him in a hug. He murmurs against Dean’s ear. “Ready to go home?”

When he gets a tiny nod of agreement, he and Max help get Dean on his feet. As they make their way to the door, he sees Rowena talking to the other paramedic to get the paperwork filled out, while Hannah talks to who appears to be the shop’s manager. He smiles, grateful for their help, and begins herding Dean home.

* * *

Warmth and the presence of a hard body against his back are the first things Dean becomes aware of amidst the dark fog of sleep. As his awareness spreads, he finds Castiel’s arm wrapped tightly around his waist, and one of his knees tucked between Dean’s. The stubble of his beard makes Dean’s skin prickle where it’s pressed against his shoulder. Keeping his eyes closed to preserve the sense of only existing in relation to Castiel, Dean smiles. 

The nice thing about being an early riser is that he always gets a few minutes to just lie in Castiel’s arms and enjoy the peace and comfort.

Eventually the fact that the room is brightly lit pierces Dean’s eyelids and consciousness. He opens them and blinks a few times until he’s able to focus on the bedside clock. Early afternoon. His smile fades into a frown of confusion. Why had he slept so late?

And then the memories come flooding back. Hannah’s visit, and his trip to the coffee shop. Talking with Rowena.

The panic. The screams and explosions. He _knows_ they were only in his head, but they were worse than reality because he couldn’t escape them.

“Dean, you’re going to crush my wrist.”

Castiel’s words bring Dean’s attention to the fact that he’d grabbed Castiel’s arm where it rests over his stomach, and he’s got it in a death grip. He forces his fingers to unclench, releasing him. At his back, Castiel shifts, first stretching, and then pulling Dean onto his back with a hand on his shoulder. He leans over Dean, searching his face with concern. Seeing Castiel’s familiar features, his lake blue eyes gentle, his dark hair tousled from sleep and curling down over his forehead and around his ears because he hasn’t cut it for a while, the shadow of stubble darkening his broad jaw… it all makes Dean feel instantly calmer. 

He smiles ruefully. “Sorry,” he mumbles.

Castiel runs his fingertips over Dean’s face, tracing invisible lines between his freckles. “No need to apologize. How do you feel?”

Much better with Castiel’s soft caresses on his skin. “Good now.” He sighs and sinks further back into the pillows. His muscles feel heavy and his thoughts fuzzy, as if he hasn’t had enough sleep, even though he’s slept through a big chunk of the day thanks to the cocktail of meds in his system. “Groggy though.”

“Hm, Max said you’d probably be a bit out of it for a while. But you’re awake, so hopefully the meds are wearing off.” Castiel brushes his thumb over Dean’s bottom lip before tracing a path down his chin and throat to his chest.

Dean tilts his head back, welcoming the touch. He feels like he could go right back to sleep, especially if Castiel keeps petting him like this. But he does his best to stay awake. Sleeping would make him oblivious to the warm comfort of Castiel and the idyllic peace he’s experiencing at the moment. It’s the polar opposite of being trapped and panicky inside his own fucked up memories, and he craves more of it. 

To prevent himself from slipping back under, he decides to talk. “Shouldn’t you be at work?”

Castiel chuckles. “They don’t need me.”

“Hm.” Dean smiles. “Yeah, if they can’t go without the boss for a day they should be fired.”

“That’s almost exactly what I said to Hannah this morning,” Castiel says with a rumbling laugh. He leans down and brushes a kiss across Dean’s cheek before straightening back up again, eyes sparkling with humor. “But it turns out they aren’t going without a boss since Hannah is there. She’ll take care of things by herself from now on.”

“Well that’s what you were training her to do,” Dean points out. He yawns and his eyes drift shut despite his best efforts to keep them open.

“Turns out she didn’t need me for more than a day or two,” Castiel says. “She already knew most of what she needed to help mom out. She just kept asking me questions as an excuse to spend more time with me.”

Dean’s eyes snap open, and he meets Castiel’s amused look. “She wants you back.”

Looking completely unconcerned, Castiel nods. “She did. We talked about it, and she understands that won’t ever happen.”

He knew that. He _knows_ that. Castiel has never talked about Hannah like he missed being with her, and he’s been very vocal about how important his new life with Dean is. But relief still spreads like a balm over Dean’s skin, and he lets out a breath. Losing Castiel would be devastating. He wants to believe he’s a big enough man to let Castiel go, if being with Hannah would truly make him happy. But the truth is, Dean’s a selfish bastard, and Castiel is _his_ now.

Reaching up with a hand that feels ten pounds heavier than usual, Dean curls his arm around Castiel’s neck and pulls him down for a kiss. It’s soft and slow, lips parting against each other, tongues meeting, tracing the shape of each other’s mouths. When Castiel lifts his head again, desire unfurls inside Dean at the sight of his damp, swollen lips and the soft affection shining from his blue eyes.

“I love you.”

Castiel blinks, and his lips part on a soft gasp.

Dean repeats himself, because saying it out loud had felt so damn good. “I love you, Cas.”

A warm palm cups Dean’s face. Castiel’s eyes glow with tenderness, and the smile he gives Dean is a little wobbly around the edges, but so painfully happy and sincere. “I love you, Dean.”

Emotions swell up inside Dean so vast and uncontainable that he feels like he might burst from it. The sudden infusion of energy from it drives him up onto an elbow, and he catches Castiel’s mouth with his own again. This kiss is completely different from the last. It’s not soft touches and slow exploration; it’s hard and rough and full of fire.

Castiel matches his ferocity, pouring heat and passion and love into the kiss. He rolls on top of Dean, who groans happily under his weight. Dean spreads his legs so Castiel can settle between them, hooking a heel over Dean’s thigh to hold him in place. Only their boxers separate them, and Dean can feel the hot line of Castiel’s cock pressing into his hip.

Despite the double dose of drugs he’d received, Dean’s body responds in kind. He groans into Castiel’s mouth and rolls his hips upward. The friction sends a thrill of heat through him, and he repeats the motion.

Lifting his head, Castiel stares at Dean like a starving man looking at a feast. He shifts his body until their cocks are sliding against each other through two layers of cloth. Dean holds his gaze, just as hungry for Castiel, as they begin to move together in a slow rhythm.

“I love you, Dean,” Castiel says, low and rough.

With one hand gripping Castiel’s hip tight to guide his movements, Dean wiggles his other hand between their bodies. He fumbles at the cloth separating them until he has them both pulled free and sliding together skin to skin. Castiel refuses to give him enough room to get them both completely naked, but Dean’s okay with it. Once he has the kind of friction he wants, he wraps a hand over the back of Castiel’s neck to pull him into another kiss. The muscles under his other hand flex and clench, and Dean digs his fingers into the meat of Castiel’s ass to encourage him to speed up his movements. 

“I love you too,” he rasps in between kisses, again and again, repeating himself while Castiel groans against his mouth.

They move together like that for a long time, whispering words of love and lust. Castiel comes first, arching his back and burying his face in the curve of Dean’s neck. The slick heat of his come changes the friction just enough to bring Dean over the edge along with him after a few more grinding thrusts.

When Dean comes down from the highest waves of pleasure, he opens his eyes to find Castiel with his chin propped on his hand, elbow braced next to Dean’s shoulder. He’s smiling like a dope, the cute gummy grin that always makes Dean want to tackle him and cover his faces in kisses. 

He knows his own smile is probably just as big and silly. “I don’t know what was in that shot, but if it lets me wake up horny, I’d like to have some more.”

For a moment, his good mood falters when he realizes what he implied, but Castiel doesn’t seem bothered by the reference to recreational drug use. He chuckles fondly and runs his fingers over Dean’s temple and into his hair. “Except it knocked you out for most of the day, and you’d never get anything done.”

“Hm, well,” Dean shrugs, the movement made awkward by his position pinned under Castiel. “That’s not such a bad thing if I get a wakeup call like this every time.”

Castiel rolls his eyes, but he’s still smiling fondly. He stacks his hands on Dean’s chest and props his chin on them. “So how long have you known?”

Adjusting his pillow so he can see Castiel better, Dean considers the question. “I think it was when you agreed to watch Star Wars with me.”

Castiel’s nose wrinkles adorably when he laughs. “It took you that long, huh?”

Dean runs his fingers through Castiel’s hair, playing with the spikes to make it look even messier. “Well, when did you know?”

“I got the first inklings when you started eating fries off my plate.” Castiel’s eyes drift half shut as Dean’s nails scratch softly against his scalp. “Sharing food is a sign of affection, in a lot of cultures you know.” A smirk pulls at his cheeks. “And watching you put something in your mouth is like watching softcore porn.”

A laugh bursts from Dean’s throat. He stops combing Castiel’s hair, and thumbs at his bottom lip. “I’m pretty fond of seeing things go in your mouth too.”

Castiel pushes himself up on his arms, looming over Dean and kissing him silly. When they break apart, he drops his head to look down between their bodies for a moment before lifting it again and quirking an eyebrow. “Shower?”

“Shower,” Dean agrees.

Even though they’ve done it probably a hundred times, somehow the act of showering together seems more intimate now. Neither of them can quite get enough of touching each other, whispering all the things they love about each other into the steamy air between them. Dean blushes when Castiel mentions his scars, and Castiel laughs when Dean talks about how badass he looks riding his motorcycle. Long after they’re both thoroughly clean, they stand under the spray in each other’s arms, unwilling to separate. It’s only when the hot water runs out that they finally let go of each other and get out to dry off and dress. But they stay close as they move around the bathroom and bedroom together, orbiting each other like binary stars.

Dean feels energized, although if he moves too quickly there’s still some lingering dizziness from the medication. He’s also starving, so he eventually presses a kiss to Castiel’s shoulder before leaving him alone in the bathroom to shave while Dean goes to raid the fridge where he finds the ingredients for sandwiches.

He makes two, and is just starting in on his own when Castiel joins him. Dean pushes the second one in front of Castiel as he sits down on the stool across the island. “We need to go shopping if we’re going to be here for a while,” he says around a full mouth, because Castiel loves him even if his manners are bad, and he can get away with it.

Castiel peeks inside the sandwich, smiling when he sees that Dean made sure to include all his favorite condiments. “I’m not really needed here anymore. We don’t need to stay very long.”

“Yeah, but since we’re here, we should at least have Thanksgiving with your parents,” Dean says. “If I’m going to have the awkward family dinner experience, it might as well be an awkward holiday dinner.”

Castiel laughs. “It won’t be that bad.”

“Yeah?”

Tipping his head side to side, Castiel adds “well, it might be a little weird with my mom, since apparently she’s the one who put the idea of getting back together in Hannah’s head. But she can just suck it up and deal.”

Dean lowers his sandwich before he can take his second bite. “Shit, really?”

Before any of the insidious voices in Dean’s head can start in on how Anna is probably going to hate him, Castiel reaches across the island and puts a hand on his wrist, grounding him with the touch. “It’s not because she has anything against my relationship with you, Dean. She probably doesn’t even care if I’m with Hannah or not. I think she just wanted to give me a reason to not move across the country.”

“Well now I feel guilty about that,” Dean says with a sigh.

Castiel gets up from his stool and comes around the island to curl himself around Dean. “Don’t,” he murmurs. “Sometimes families live far apart, it’s a normal part of life. And my mother is rich, if she has a problem with the distance, she can get on a damn plane and come visit. Hell, _I_ have a lot of money and can fly out to see her. It’s not like the only way we can see each other is if we spend months on a wagon train crossing the plains. Skype exists.”

Dean pokes at a pickle trying to escape its prison of meat and bread. “Y’know, there’s more I could be doing to get over this agoraphobia bullshit. I could call my therapist and set up some sessions.”

“If that’s what you want to do, you know I’ll support you in any way I can,” Castiel assures him. “But it’s okay if you can’t get to a point where visiting Boston is easy for you. I’ll understand, and I’m sure my parents will too.”

“Yeah, I know.” And he does. Castiel has never been anything but understanding of his issues. And somehow that makes Dean want to actually start doing the work to cope with them better. “But it’s not just about visiting your parents. The Impala is pretty much done, and I want to be able to take her out on the road where she belongs. I wanna get to a point where I can take her for road trips.”

“Then I’ll help you,” Castiel assures him. “Whatever you need.”

Dean kisses him on the nose. “Thanks, Cas.”

One blue eye drops shut in a wink. “Of course, Dean.”

He let’s Dean go, but doesn’t move away, instead dragging his food closer so they can eat while standing shoulder to shoulder. Eventually they’re going to have to stop acting like they’re attached at the… everything, but Dean is going to enjoy this closeness for as long as it lasts.

They eat for a few minutes before Dean breaks the silence again. “We’re gonna need to go shopping before we go to your parents’ house though. If your mom is caring for your dad while he recovers, we can’t have her cooking us dinner. We should do it for them.”

“I have no idea how to cook a turkey.”

Dean laughs. “Don’t worry, I’ve got that covered.”

“Well I’ll take care of the pie then.”

Swallowing down a too big, under-chewed bite, Dean stares at Castiel with wide eyes. “You can make pie?”

“My parents own an apple orchard to supply the cider at their brewery,” Castiel says as he wipes away a smudge of mustard at the corner of his mouth. Dean’s still gobsmacked enough to not feel jealous that he didn’t get to wipe it away for him. “I make a killer caramel apple pie.”

Dropping his head back on his shoulders, Dean groans deeply. “Oh my god, Cas, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I must have been a goddamn hero in a past life or something, to deserve you. Happy thanks-fucking-giving to me.”

Castiel huffs a laugh. “Yeah, me too.”

They kiss again, and Dean marvels at the new tenderness between them. When they separate, he smiles down at Castiel. “Now that I know you can make pie, I’m going to be a monster about it. You’ll have to bake them for me all the time. I hope you’ll still love me when I’m a fat and crazy ex-soldier.”

Grinning, Castiel pokes him in the belly. “I already do.”

“Hey now,” Dean protests. He runs a hand over his stomach, wondering if it’s less flat than it had been before he met Castiel, since they tend to bond so much over sharing meals.

Brushing his hand away, Castiel nuzzles against his cheek. “It’s just more of you to love.” He glances up at Dean through his lashes. “Will you still love me when my hair goes gray and I’m a crazy ex-druggy?”

Dean brushes his fingers through the hair at Castiel’s temple where a few strands of silver already weave through the dark brown. “Absolutely.”

One more kiss, and then they finally let each other finish eating. But they still lean into each other as they talk about what they’ll need for a proper holiday feast.

When they’re finished, Castiel insists on cleaning up since Dean made lunch. Dean slips onto Castiel’s abandoned stool while Cas works. “So what do you want to do for the rest of today?” Castiel asks as he puts the dishes in the washer. “We could still go see my parents if you want, but I called them and told them you weren’t feeling well, so they’re not expecting us. And since I’m not needed at the office today, we’ve got some time to kill.”

Dean shrugs. Between the meds, the sex, and the meal he’s feeling lazy. “Got any movies?”

Leaning against the counter as he dries his hands with a towel, Castiel tilts his head thoughtfully. Then he smiles. “I don’t have any Star Wars or Indiana Jones, but I’ve got Lord of the Rings or Doctor Sexy. Are you in the mood for Middle Earth hotties, or cowboy boots and smut?”

Dean’s eyes widen in excitement, even though he’s probably going to have to flip a coin to decide which one to watch. “I love you.”

Castiel laughs. “I know.”

“Does this make me Princess Leia?” Dean asks with a mock wince. He wouldn’t mind being as awesome as Carrie Fisher, no matter what role.

Tossing aside the dish towel, Castiel rounds the island and pulls Dean from the stool. He waggles his eyebrows suggestively as he tugs Dean toward the living room. “You’d look fantastic in the slave outfit.”

“I’ll wear it for you if you put on the Han Solo costume.”

“You’ve got a deal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't care about medical accuracy. It's for squares XD


	31. Chapter 31 - Epilogue

_One Year Later_

“Are you ready?” When Castiel doesn’t receive an answer, he goes looking for Dean in their bedroom. Dean has one of the duffel bags they’d packed last night open, and is stuffing another stack of clothing in there. “I think you’ve got enough flannels Dean.”

Dean scoffs. “Easy for you to say, Cas. You’re immune to the cold. I, on the other hand, will freeze to death without at least five layers.”

“I am not immune to it,” Castiel argues as he sits on the edge of the bed. Lore stops sniffing at their bags and crawls into his lap. He picks her up and snuggles her against his chest, smiling when her motor starts up and she rumbles happily.

Dean eyes him skeptically. “I have seen you go outside in the snow in a t-shirt and shorts.”

“That was hardly a snow storm. It was three snowflakes and a cloudy day. The ground didn’t even look damp.” He scratches Lore’s chin and watches as Dean struggles to close the duffel without popping the zipper. “You desert dwellers don’t know what real winter even is.”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.” Dean grunts triumphantly when he has the zipper closed. He lifts the bag and slings the straps over his shoulder, and looks down at Castiel. “Boston gets cold as fuck, dude, and we’re going to be driving through plenty of places that experience ‘real winter’,” he curls his fingers in air quotes, even though he always teases Castiel about doing it. “It’s probably going to snow for most of the time we’ll be there.”

After a kiss between her ears, Castiel sets Lore on the bed and follows his boyfriend out of the room, chuckling when he hears Dean grumbling about “insane weather” and “snow before Christmas is unnatural is what it is”. They end up outside, where his own luggage is already tucked in the Impala’s trunk. “Is there anything else you think we’ll need?”

“You’ve got the directions?” Dean doesn’t trust Google Maps out in the middle of nowhere, and he insisted on printing the directions and buying an atlas.

Castiel nods. “In the glovebox already. Do you have your meds?”

Dean doesn’t need them as often as he used to. Shortly after coming home from that first trip to Boston, he’d kept his word about calling his therapist. She’d done some adjustments to his prescriptions, and they’ve done several CBT sessions (which they always laugh about when they discuss it, because neither one of them thinks _cognitive behavior therapy_ when they hear that abbreviation), plus they’ve taken several small road trips so Dean can expose himself to long periods in unfamiliar places. 

They’d had to start small, with weekly shopping trips to Crossroads, first on slow weekdays then on Saturday when the stores are the busiest. Eventually they moved on to taking weekend trips to nearby cities, and they even spent a week in Denver in late summer. 

It hasn’t been easy for either of them. Watching Dean fight through his terror and anxiety has been painful, but Castiel refused to let him do it on his own. He’d dealt with his addiction by himself, and he remembers how difficult that was. He won’t let Dean struggle through this on his own.

This trip will be farther and longer than anything they’ve tried so far, by quite a lot, and Dean has admitted that he’s still really nervous about it. Castiel’s parents had offered to buy them plane tickets, but Dean had turned them down, insisting that a road trip is much preferable to hurtling through the sky in a metal death tube. And he really wants to show off his car to Charlie when they get to Boston.

But he seems okay at the moment as he straightens from situating their things in the trunk. He gives Castiel a look as he closes the lid with a _k-chunk_. “Do you have yours?” he snarks.

Castiel chuckles and nods to concede that Dean scored a point. “Yeah, I’ve got them.” He doubts he’ll need them. Cooler weather always means fewer headaches. But he keeps them with him now, just in case. Especially since it seems to give Dean peace of mind.

“Alright, then I think we’re ready.”

They return inside just long enough to make sure all the lights are off and that Lore’s dishes are full. They’re the kind of dishes that hold a week’s worth of food and water, but Sam and Eileen plan on checking on her daily, just so she doesn’t get lonely. Castiel still feels a twinge of regret when he looks back at her just before closing the door on his way back outside. She’s giving them the Sad Face, and it’s really hard to turn his back on that. He’s going to miss her.

It’s early, because Dean wanted to get started as soon as possible, but they timed it so the diner would be open before they leave so they can stop in for breakfast. Ellen fusses over them, giving them messages to pass along to Jo, even though Castiel knows that Jo calls her mom every day and they’ll talk at least a couple of times before he and Dean get to Boston. But he promises to pass on every single one, and accepts the festively wrapped gifts Ellen presses into his hands to give to Jo and Charlie. 

Like Castiel’s mother, Ellen isn’t completely thrilled that her only child went and fell in love with someone on the other side of the country, but she’s taken it in stride. She clearly adores Charlie, and is elated that Jo found happiness with her, even if it means Jo has decided to make Boston her new home.

“And this should hold you over till lunch,” Ellen says when Benny brings out a plastic bag with To Go boxes tucked inside, along with some travel mugs that probably have coffee in them. 

“I don’t think we’re going to have a problem finding places to eat,” Dean teases as he accepts the food and drinks from Benny.

Ellen harrumphs softly. “But will you find any _good_ places to eat?” She pats him on the cheek, and then turns to give Castiel the same treatment. “You boys be safe, you hear me?”

They mumble their agreement like they’re ten year olds walking to the library by themselves for the first time. A few more goodbyes and safe wishes are called out from the rest of the people in the diner, as they leave. And soon they’re on the road, heading north until they reach the next highway that will take them eastward.

It turns out Dean is right about Google Maps not picking up the best signal in some places, and it’s a good thing they’d looked up the directions. They start out with the windows down, but as they get further north it gets cool enough that they roll the windows up and turn down the stereo since they don’t need to blast it over the wind in their ears. They stop a few times at rest stops to stretch their legs, and eat the snacks Ellen sent along with them. Their first pit stop for lunch is late afternoon, in a dingy little diner somewhere in Colorado. The burgers are mediocre, but Dean is fanatical about the high quality of their pies. They order a couple slices to go, and as they drive away, Dean is already planning on stopping there again when they come through again on their way home.

They have to stop for gas more than is ecologically friendly, but it gives them chances to stock up on Red Vines and jerky. Dean nixes crackers and chips, or anything else that will leave crumbs in the car, but their bickering over snack choices is all good natured. They play car games, looking for the alphabet in billboards and on the trailers of semi trucks, first going A to Z, then backwards which is harder for both of them to keep the letters in order than they thought it would be.

No matter how often Castiel checks, he doesn’t see any signs of anxiety in Dean. He’s animated while they talk, quick to laughter, and in quiet moments he smiles softly out the windshield. When they planned this strip, they discussed driving arrangements, and the idea was that they’d switch after every stop. But Dean insists he’s fine to keep going every time, and he looks so damn happy behind the wheel that Castiel doesn’t argue. Not when he looks so comfortable there, like it’s where he’s always belonged.

When the sun starts setting behind them, they talk about finding a place for the night. Castiel had wanted to plan ahead, booking rooms in advance so they’d be assured a place to stay. But Dean had scoffed at the idea, insisting the real road trip experience involves driving around little towns until they find a seedy motel with a darkened No on the Vacancy sign. Castiel had reminded him of the value of his car, and Dean conceded to something a little nicer than _seedy_ , even if he’d grumbled a little bit about the cost. But not enough to stop Castiel from searching out motels on his smartphone and calling ahead to make sure they’ve got open rooms.

And he does give the little hotel Castiel picked an impressed look as they park out front and walk in together.

It’s once they pass through the glass doors into the lobby that Castiel notices the first signs of Dean’s nerves. He’s chewing at his thumbnail, and his eyes dart to every corner of the room, looking for unknown dangers. 

“Dean?”

Green eyes, just a little too wide, swing around to Castiel. Seeing the anxiety leaking out from behind Dean’s mask makes Castiel’s heart clench. Dean has been doing so well all day, but maybe this is too much for him. It’s the furthest they’ve been so far, and maybe a year of exposure therapy isn’t enough...

A smile reveals the wrinkles forming around Dean’s eyes. His pupils are constricted, and his breathing is short and shallow. Castiel can _see_ his struggle. But the smile is full of reassurance. “I’m good, Cas.”

Castiel swallows, and returns the smile. They’re standing close enough that it only takes a twitch of his fingers to wrap Dean’s hand in his own. They both squeeze.

He keeps hold of Dean’s hand as they approach the counter. The woman glances down at their hands, and for a brief moment Castiel worries whether it’s a good idea to show PDAs in a small town, but then she brightens and gives them a welcoming smile. The only time her friendliness falters is when Castiel has to let go of Dean’s hand to sign the paperwork, but it’s only because she lets out an audible sigh when Dean wraps his arm over Castiel’s shoulder. It’s the kind of sigh that all of his female friends try to hide while they’re watching chick flicks in the company of men. The kind that says _oh no they’re cute._

It’s loud enough that Dean notices though, and the receptionist turns bright red when he winks at her as he takes the keys she passes to them across the counter. “Thanks, sweetheart,” he says in that low voice that always sends shivers down Castiel’s spine.

She practically sputters in response, and Castiel hides his amusement until his back is turned. Poor girl. He very much understands how she feels.

They go back outside long enough to repark the Impala in a more permanent spot and to gather enough luggage to get them through the night. Their room is on the second floor, and they bypass the elevator to take the stairs, since the little map provided with their keys indicates it’s a faster route from the parking lot.

“Okay you’re right, this is better,” Dean admits once they’re inside their room. 

It’s not exactly a luxury suite, but everything looks clean and new. There’s a mini kitchen where they can warm up the leftovers they brought with them from the last diner, and the bathroom practically gleams like it’s in a Mr. Clean commercial. 

Castiel deposits his bag at the foot of the bed, and drops his body face down on the mattress. He moans happily when muscles made sore from sitting in a car all day get a chance to relax in a better position. The Impala is very roomy, and has more leg space than most cars he’s been in, but it feels good to be able to stretch his body out.

He hears the thump of Dean’s bag on the floor next to his, but the bed doesn’t dip down next to him like he expects. Turning his head the other way on the mattress, he finds Dean standing at the foot of the bed, looking around with the same wide eyed intensity that he’d shown in the lobby downstairs. Pushing himself onto his side and propping himself on an elbow is enough movement to catch Dean’s attention, and when their eyes meet, Castiel lifts his eyebrows in question. He’s learned that if he asks too much if Dean’s okay it’ll stress him out more, so he stays silent and waits.

Dean responds with a warm smile. “I don’t know about you, but I could use a shower.”

“Oh hell yes.”

Another perk to the room is that they don’t have to squeeze into a tiny shower together. This one is roomy enough to hold both of them comfortably. The hot water seems to wash away some of Dean’s tension, and their hands wander a bit even if they’re both too tired for it to go anywhere. But when they’re done, dried, and dressed in their sleep pants, Dean still pulls out his prescription and pops a pill as Castiel microwaves the pie they’d gotten to go.

It doesn’t seem to help though. As they eat, sitting cross legged on the bed, Dean seems to pull into himself. He doesn’t enthuse over the pie again, just eating it slowly and steadily. In small bites, like he doesn’t really want to eat it, but is pushing through.

He’d promised himself he wouldn’t nag, but if Dean isn’t scarfing down a pie like it’s his last meal, Castiel is worried. “Hey.” He waits until Dean peeks up at him. “We don’t have to keep going. I’m sure my parents would still pitch in for plane tickets if you want to find the nearest airport and fly from there. Money isn’t going to be an issue, you know.”

Dean drops his gaze back to his pie. He inhales slowly and deeply, then lets the air out in a rush. When he lifts his head again, he’s smiling. “I’m fine, Cas. Really.”

Castiel resolves again to take his word for it. They finish eating, and then get under the covers. Dean turns on the TV, and finds a M*A*S*H marathon. Castiel cuddles up to him, head pillowed on Dean’s chest. Under his ear, Dean’s heartbeat slows down, and then it kicks back up again. This repeats itself several times, and Castiel wonders when these extreme swings between calm and anxiety are going to wear Dean out enough for him to sleep. Castiel is probably going to have to do most of the driving in the morning when they leave, because he expects Dean will probably be exhausted even if he manages to get some rest--

“Okay, let me up,” Dean says suddenly. He nudges at Castiel until he’s free enough to roll off the bed. 

Worrying his lip between his teeth to hold in another question about Dean’s state of mind, Castiel watches Dean stride over to where they’d stashed their bags. Dean bends over to dig through one of the side pockets, and despite his worries Castiel takes the opportunity to admire the view.

Finding whatever he was after, Dean straightens back up and hurries back to the bed. He crawls onto the mattress, and kneels on top of the comforter at Castiel’s side. 

When Castiel sees the little box in Dean’s hands, it’s his heart’s turn to kick into overdrive. It’s covered in black velvet. The kind of box that holds jewelry… specifically rings. His stomach flip flops wildly when he lifts his gaze to find Dean staring at him with earnest hope.

“I was going to wait,” Dean says softly. “I wanted to do this with friends and family around, but--” he breaks off to take a deep breath, and he opens the box. Inside is a simple gold band. “I can’t wait anymore. Cas…you know I love the hell out of you, and want to spend the rest of my life with you. At least I hope you know, and if I'm not tell you enough I'll--" he cuts himself off again, this time with a huff of laughter, but quickly turns solemn again when he meet's Castiel's gaze. "What I'm trying to say here is... will you marry me?”

Castiel stares down at the ring. He’d think he’s forgotten how to speak, but he’s actually forgotten how to think. On the TV, he vaguely hears Klinger say something funny and the laugh track plays. 

His hand shakes when he lifts it. Before he can take the box, Dean clears his throat and pulls the ring out for him. Castiel doesn’t speak, but he takes the ring and holds it between the fingers of both hands. Inside, he can see an inscription.

_I know._

Castiel laughs, and then chokes slightly. He has to blink his eyes when his vision goes suddenly blurry. He slides the ring on his finger, and it fits just right. Lifting his head, he looks at Dean. All the love Dean has shown him in a thousand different ways shines from his eyes, which have also gone glassy with tears.

Still, Castiel can’t speak. So he answers without words. 

Cupping Dean’s cheek, he leans in to kiss him. It’s gentle and chaste, but Dean inhales sharply when their lips touch.

When Castiel leans back, Dean gives him a wobbly smile. “Is that a yes?”

A slow, elated grin stretches across Castiel’s lips. “Yes, Dean. Of course I’ll marry you.”

All the air goes out of Dean’s sails and he sags forward until his forehead is pillowed on Castiel’s shoulder. “Thank god.” His voice is muffled against Castiel’s skin. “I thought I was gonna have a meltdown when you were quiet for so long.”

Another joke is delivered on screen, and Castiel feels like the laugh track is laughing along with him. He runs his fingers through Dean’s hair. “Sorry. Last time I got married, I did the proposing. I don’t have any practice at being proposed to.”

Dean grunts and lifts his head to pin Castiel with a glare. “This is not practice. As far as I’m concerned, I should be the last person you marry.” He wraps his arms around Castiel and drags him down onto the bed. He wiggles around until they’re both under the comforter again. 

All the tension that Dean has been carrying with him since they arrived at the hotel is gone. And it occurs to Castiel that most of his stress was probably because he was nervous about proposing.

“I’m on board for that plan.” Castiel turns in his arms so they’re nose to nose, chest to chest. “I wonder how long it will take us to get a marriage license?”

“I already did the research.” Dean’s grin lights up the space between them like a tiny sliver of sunshine. “We can get married on New Year’s Eve if we can find someone to officiate.”

Castiel laughs, giddy with joy. And he sees it reflected just as brightly in Dean’s eyes. “Always prepared, aren’t you?”

“You love that about me.”

“Absolutely.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are folks! Thanks for hanging out with me for this one! 
> 
> So remember when I was saying that I was cutting stuff from the original because it wouldn't make sense with SPN or Destiel? And I speculated that this fic would be shorter? HAHA GUESS WHO ADDED 30K?? Yeesh, I'm such a wordy bitch. 
> 
> But I learned a lot, and this was a very good project for me. Feels Like Home was the first fic I wrote that made me feel fandom famous, so in my mind it was Well Written and Perfect. Turns out I've got 7 years of growth as an author that allowed me to see a whole bunch of ways that I've already improved and that I could improve even further. A lot of this is rewritten word for word from the original, but I cleaned up some stuff, elaborated on details, rearranged things, created new scenes. I've never rewritten a whole story like this, because I hate editing and I'd much rather move on to a new project that keep poking at old ones. But poking the old fic was actually a lot of fun! Maybe someday if I write for other fandoms I'll come back and do the same thing with one of my Destiel originals.
> 
> I wanna talk about my OC from FLH for a minute, because he's My Son and I love him. He's a lot less cocky than Dean, more reserved even though he's just as heroic. I created John Matthew Shepard and then I watched the MCU movies and realized someone had read my fics and stolen him to create Steve Rogers lol... But JM is also horribly scarred over the whole side of his body, including his face, so he's very self conscious, which fed into his agoraphobia, because in strange places there are strangers who will stare at him. Before I started writing this story, and even a little bit at the beginning, I waffled over whether I'd give Dean the same scars. I decided not to though, because that's such a big part of JM's personality and I didn't want to transfer ALL of that over to Dean. Or his unhealthy love for mayonnaise. Dean's got pie already, after all lol
> 
> Translating his thoughts and actions into Deanisms was actually a lot of fun, and a way to get to feel closer to Dean and to JM in some ways. It's weird how these characters can hold such large chunks of real estate in our hearts, isn't it? 
> 
> I've talked about it in the comments, but there's an unfinished sequel to FLH that I've been eyeing. Maybe with all this new experience, and some better set up in the main fic, I can revisit it with Dean and Cas and finish it? I dunno, we'll see. It's very angsty which is hard for me to write. 
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading my rambles! I hope you enjoyed this little adventure ^_^


End file.
